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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26192377">The Place You Need To Reach</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwenpools_Aesthetic/pseuds/Gwenpools_Aesthetic'>Gwenpools_Aesthetic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Guardians of the Galaxy (Comics), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel (Comics), The Defenders (Marvel TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bottom Peter Quill, Catholic Guilt, Daredevil &amp; Defenders Exchange 2020, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Fusing Canon, Galactic Guilt, Hurt Matt Murdock, IN SPACE!, Idiots in Love, Inspired by Music, M/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Rare Pairings, Road Trips, So As Canon Compliant As It Can Be, Top Matt Murdock, idiots to lovers, mostly endgame compliant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:20:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>57,587</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26192377</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwenpools_Aesthetic/pseuds/Gwenpools_Aesthetic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Anyone who looks up will see him, all in red, perched on the steeple of Clinton Church, one arm wrapped casually around the cross. He isn’t subtle. Isn’t trying to be subtle, either. He’s a symbol. A promise to the people of the city, the people of his neighborhood, that everything will be ok. The world is strange and new and different, but it will be ok. They are safe. All they have to do is look up.</p>
<p>Of course, this is New York, so nobody ever looks up.</p>
<p>It surprised him, at first, how quickly everything had gone back to normal. Maybe not normal, exactly. Nothing would ever be normal again; things hadn’t truly been normal for a decade now. But the world had gone back to how it was before the Decimation, even if that really wasn’t anything anyone should pretend to call normal. The days before the battle of New York might have been the last time his city had seen normal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***This is my entry for the Daredevil &amp; Defender's Exchange 2020, and a gift for <a href="https://murdockquills.tumblr.com/">@Murdockquills</a>. I was so totally inspired by the art there, that I just couldn't hold myself back. This fic is completely done, and new chapters will be posted every other day.***</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Danny Rand/Colleen Wing, Jessica Jones &amp; Matt Murdock, Matt Murdock/Peter Quill, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Peter Parker/Wade Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>111</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Daredevil and Defenders Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Place You Need To Reach</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinequeen/gifts">cinequeen</a>.</li>



    </ul><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So... I really wanted to explore a post-snap Matt Murdock, which means I've done my best to fuse together comics canon, MCU canon, and NMCU canon. It doesn't always work, and I just sort of gloss over those discrepancies. When this happens, please be kind and look the other way. I've tried to include something sparkly for you to be distracted by :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>When I was a man I thought it ended</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>When I knew love's perfect ache</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>But my peace has always depended</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>On all the ashes in my wake</span>
  </em>
</p><p><em><span>All you have is your fire</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>And the place you need to reach</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Don't you ever tame your demons</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>But always keep 'em on a leash</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/1UWhx0pFZccP4jdCIZsj7U?si=fRDDsg8IQNC0IjASXsXZCQ"><span>Arsonist’s </span></a><a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/1UWhx0pFZccP4jdCIZsj7U?si=PUZLRk7OSlCNDGozbGbzOg"><span>Lullaby: Hosier</span></a></p><p>
  <span>Anyone who looks up will see him, all in red, perched on the steeple of Clinton Church, one arm wrapped casually around the cross. He isn’t subtle. Isn’t trying to be subtle, either. He’s a symbol. A promise to the people of the city, the people of his neighborhood, that everything will be ok. The world is strange and new and different, but it will be ok. They are safe. All they have to do is look up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, this is New York, so nobody ever looks up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It surprised him, at first, how quickly everything had gone back to normal. Maybe not </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span>, exactly. Nothing would ever be normal again; things hadn’t truly been normal for a decade now. But the world had gone back to how it was before the Decimation, even if that really wasn’t anything anyone should pretend to call normal. The days before the battle of New York might have been the last time his city had seen normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Matt? Matt hasn’t seen normal since the last time he’s seen… well…  </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There had been problems, of course. There were always problems. This time, most of them were logistics. Ramping up manufacturing and food production, reuniting families, settling disputes over apartments and homes. A year of chaos. It was nothing compared to what those left behind had been through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries not to think about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some nights he is more successful at this than others. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t happen all at once. It had rolled like waves across the city. Not one wave, not one straight line, but like true waves in the ocean, crashing and erratic, with undertow, unrelenting. Unceasing. Matt remembered learning, as a child, that you never turned your back to the ocean, even if you were done in the water, because you could never be certain that the waves were ready to be done with you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, that particular nugget of wisdom from Battlin’ Jack Murdock hadn’t done him much good for very long. These days, it didn’t much matter which way his back was facing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, he had learned from Steve Rogers - not Captain America… not then and certainly not now - that the waves had been a good thing. They had given important people time to react. Time to send for help. And that help was what got everyone back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was a good thing. That was certainly a good thing. Matt had been lost without Foggy and Karen. He thanked God for every day he got to spend with his two best friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still… when he thinks back on it… the waves of destruction. The sound of cells being torn apart, the smell of decomposition, the silence that echoed through his head at the loss of half of the life on the planet…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It might have been kinder to get it all over with at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, then, he wouldn’t still be wondering if it was done, or if there was maybe, somewhere, lost in the universe, one more wave with his name on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries not to think about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tonight? Tonight is a good night. He knows that. Appreciates it for what it is. He doesn’t get many good nights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is late September. The days are still hot, but the nights are cool. The concrete traps the heat, but up above the rooftops the air is light. There is a breeze. The leaves are just starting to turn - not enough to see but enough to smell. Their chlorophyll is starting to break down. Everything breaks down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt tries not to think about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The city is quiet but not too quiet. It’s late, but people are still out walking the streets, hand-in-hand, drinking up the last of the summer. Matt likes this time of year. He likes the sound of the leaves rustling in the trees. He tries to remember if he felt the same, before. If it mattered. If he cared as much about what came next. The smell of the leaves as they began to decay. The sound of them crumbling. Turning to dust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt tries not to think about it</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that what comes next isn’t worth worrying about because you never know. You can guess. You can expect. But you’ll almost certainly be wrong every single time.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries not to think about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he exists on faith. He knows that there is always something coming behind him, that two waves are never exactly alike, and that he might always have his back turned to the next one. He exists on faith that, whatever life throws at him, whatever the next wave is, he will find the strength to get back up and keep going.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt focuses his attention on a couple two blocks over. They are n</span>
  <span>ot a threat. They are happy. Playful. A bit drunk. In love. It helps to focus on something. When he lets his senses wander, it’s too easy to get overwhelmed. And when he’s overwhelmed, he might miss something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he focuses, and he listens, and he waits. And he tries not to think. He tries to have faith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels it before he hears it, and his first thought is that it is definitely not an airplane. He has no clue what it is, but he’s confident in what it’s not. It’s not an airplane, or a helicopter, or a helicarrier. It’s not StarkTech, unless they’ve developed something totally new. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s boxy and angular, with points jutting off the sides and the back, yet it’s somehow aerodynamic in a way it shouldn’t be. He can feel the way that the sound and air run around it as opposed to bouncing off of it. It’s big… bigger than an airplane but not as big as those SHIELD helicarriers were.  And it’s quiet. It’s too quiet, and Matt wonders again what is keeping it in the air until… until he realizes… </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing. Nothing is keeping it in the air. It’s falling, and it’s falling fast.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And this… this is the kind of thing you can’t expect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because whatever it is, the not-an-airplane, it’s reached terminal velocity and it is going to hit the ground in, by Matt’s best estimates, the next 30 seconds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seems to be headed for the Hudson, and Matt would like to pretend that he can believe that’s a blessing, but really he knows better. As fast as the not-an-airplane is traveling, and as big as it is, it doesn’t matter where it goes down. It’s going to hit with the force of an atomic bomb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the kind of thing that took out the dinosaurs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could call Commander Rogers, but really, what good would that do? By the time the man answers, if he answers, it will be too late. He can pray that the Avengers already have the not-an-airplane on their radar, but there’s nothing to suggest that. New York is pretty low on fliers these days; the hardest hitting team members seem to spend the majority of their time in DC or on the west coast. There’s that Spider-Kid. Maybe he could do something, but Matt doesn’t sense him anywhere around. Maybe Strange?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ten seconds now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bows his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Says a prayer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tries not to think.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tries to have faith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The engines - or what Matt assumes must be the engines - kick in three seconds before his estimated impact. They shoot like jet engines out of what must be the back of the ship. The shockwaves rock the entire island, set off car alarms in Midtown, make dogs bark as far away as Brooklyn, leave Matt gasping for breath and tasting bile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s moving before he realizes it; his body on autopilot while his mind is still mush from the aftershocks. He knows two things: one, that an alien spaceship just crashed into the Hudson River, and two, that there’s someone, or something on board. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s definitely surprised when he doesn’t see anyone on the way there. Ok, sure, this apparently wasn’t the extinction level event that he’d braced for, but even still, something did just fall from outer space. The least they could do was send that Spider-Kid. Intergalactic shit wasn’t supposed to be his job. That was almost a direct quote of what Rogers had told him when he </span>
  <em>
    <span>hadn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>let him join the fight against Thanos.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We need someone at home, Matt. Somebody’s got to be here in case… well, in case we don’t come back, to put it bluntly. We have no way to know what’s going to happen. Whatever happens out there doesn’t change the way things are here, at home. I need to know that somebody I trust is watching over New York - is taking care of New York things.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt had known then that the man wasn’t planning on surviving the fight. When Steve had returned from Wakanda, Matt had been shocked. When he’d learned Steve had taken the long way back from the past, Matt hadn’t been surprised at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was only so much trauma a man could be expected to go through before he simply couldn’t fight anymore. Or… or at least that’s what Matt had been told. He was still waiting to hit his own limit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Regardless, </span>
  <em>
    <span>alien spaceship </span>
  </em>
  <span>is definitely outside of his purview. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt is scanning the river before his feet touch the docks. The water is rough, and that’s not helping anything. The choppy waves are noisy and distracting and…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There. Just a fraction of it peaking above the surface. It’s solid and made out of something like metal, and it vibrates with a frequency he’s never heard before. It’s definitely not of this world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But at least it’s floating, or possibly the base is touching the bottom of the river. The front - what he assumes is the front from the variance in materials - is peaking above the surface. Small miracles and all that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wastes no time, cursing the lack of support from the Avengers as he dives into the icy cold water. He doesn’t allow himself the luxury to reflect on how the Spider-Kid could have probably done this from the docks, webbing up the ship and using his enhanced strength to haul it in. It doesn’t matter anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The river doesn’t completely obliterate his senses, but it doesn’t help them either. Sound travels faster through water than air, but he’s not used to it. Plus the river is full of soot and sediment and fish, all of which are distracting.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But at least it doesn’t smell as bad as it did seven years ago. The Decimation had at least done something good.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He reminds himself that they’re calling it The Blip now, as if giving it a cute name will make the memories hurt any less</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries not to think about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to have faith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps swimming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt collides with the ship more than he finds it, fingers jamming into the smooth metal. It’s slippery under his hands as he struggles to pull himself up on top of it. He can’t get a solid read on anything below the surface of the water, but he’s fairly certain that his earlier suspicion is right - that the ship is so big that the tail end is resting on the riverbed over 150 feet below.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Now what? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The river is loud and Matt is exhausted beyond belief, hypothermia working to settle into his bones, to drag him down. He shakes it off, focuses inside the hull. Finds the man…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least he assumes it’s a man. It sounds like a man. What if alien physiology sounds exactly the same as humans, but he has green skin or something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That would be embarrassing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt tries not to think about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man - the fucking spaceman - is breathing, thank God, but unconscious. Matt realizes that the spaceship must have landed upside down, that he’s sitting on the belly of the craft, because the man is hanging upside down by the harness holding him to his chair. There’s a gash on his head and blood is dripping out onto what must be the ceiling of the craft below him. He’s alive - heartbeat stringy and slow but regular, breathing shallow, probably just knocked unconscious. Still, hanging upside down isn’t great for anyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Except maybe that Spider-Kid, who couldn’t be bothered to help.  </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt scans the bottom of the hull, searching for something… anything… He finds a seam, a hatch. He pulls one of his batons out of the pocket on his thigh and brings it down on the potential opening as hard as he can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The impact reverberates with a dull thud. Matt can feel it in his lungs.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ship doesn’t even dent.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He hits the ship again with the end of his baton, and again, and again. Nothing happens. Nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because it’s a fucking space ship, you dumbass. It’s designed to withstand the pressures of space. You are not stronger than the void.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt pulls his phone out of a zippered side-pocket, knows he needs back-up, pushes the button. Nothing happens. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dead. Because you took it for a swim.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He hammers down on the hatch again for good measure, then unzips a different pocket and pulls out a small, plastic card. It’s his Avengers Identicard which, he’s been informed by Foggy who thought the entire thing was hilarious, identifies him as definitely NOT an Avenger. Still, he’s been told that if he pushes the small button it will call for help. Pepper had helpfully drawn his attention to the flashing light around the outer edge of the button that let him know whether or not his call had been received: Red meant try again, yellow meant he’d been received, green meant help was on the way</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t explained that he had no way to tell if a light was flashing, much less what color it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushes the button, considers the card for a moment, says a prayer for the reliability of StarkTech, and then shoves the card back into his pocket and zips it closed. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Think, Matthew. Fucking think.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His brain is fuzzy, senses overwhelmed from the chopping waves throwing water into the air, the cold that’s well past settled into his arms and his legs, the exertion of swimming out there.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Think.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He runs his fingers around the outline of the hatch. They’re more than half numb, but they’re still more sensitive than anyone else’s. The ship feels like nothing he’s ever touched before, and he slows as the metal seems to give way beneath his hands. He pushes down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hatch releases.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pockets his batons carefully, hating the way his hands shake. He’s cold. Colder than he’d like to admit. Shivering and exhausted, Matt drops into the ship. It’s further down than he estimated, and he lands with a dull thud on what he can only describe as a windshield. It’s not glass, more like some sort of plastic,and he’s thankful when it doesn’t crack. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a voice in his head tells him, and it sounds a lot like Claire’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok,” Matt mutters out loud, standing up, rolling his shoulders, and assessing his situation. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You're in an upside-down spaceship in the middle of the Hudson River. The pilot of said spaceship, an honest to God spaceman, is unconscious, and… </span>
  </em>
  <span>Matt cocked his head, focusing his attention on the spaceman suspended upside down in front of him </span>
  <em>
    <span>...has a minor concussion. That is, assuming his brain physiology is the same as a human’s. Regardless, the first step needs to be getting him down.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt moves towards the spaceman but stumbles as a wave of shivers make his entire body rattle. The air in the spaceship is cool, and he can feel his internal temperature dropping. There’s water at his feet, streaming in from the still open hatch above his head. His own heart rate is noticeably slowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You, Matt Murdock, are dangerously close to hypothermia.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries not to think about it. </span>
</p><p><span>He stands again and travels the few steps between himself and the spaceman, wrapping one arm under the man’s shoulders as the other works to release the harness’s buckles. The ship shudders under the onslaught of waves from the river, and Matt stumbles and drops to one knee. He feels clumsy, a bit tired, there’s a ringing in his ears and </span><em><span>fuck</span></em><span>!</span> <span>That isn’t a good sign at all. </span></p><p>
  <span>Matt struggles with the harness clasps which clearly weren’t meant to release when the weight of a full grown </span>
  <em>
    <span>mother-fucking-spaceman </span>
  </em>
  <span>is pressing down on them. Finally, he manages to unsnap the various clips and buckles, and the man falls forward, dropping them both back down to the ground. Matt ends up flat on his back with the man on top of him, face pressing into his chest, and he allows himself the luxury of lying there for a minute. Yeah, it’s probably weird, but the spaceman is warm and Matt is cold, and tired, and it’s not like he actively pulled this unconscious guy on top of himself, he just… ended up this way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, he can already hear the spaceman’s heartbeat returning to what would be normal for a human. It’s possible he just saved this guy's life. From Matt’s perspective, he earned a moment of rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spaceman shifts slightly, and Matt tries to react but his head feels heavy. He doesn’t feel cold anymore. The spaceship seems to have stopped shaking but he can still hear the waves crashing into the sides. The water he’s lying on sloshes up over his wrists. He can tell things are going downhill quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wasafuck?” The man mumbles as he begins to stir. His eyes blink open and he lifts up enough to look at Matt. “Who’re’ou?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt’s tongue feels fuzzy in his mouth and the guy scrambles off of him before he can answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spaceman stands, immediately wobbling on his feet, and he reaches out a hand to steady himself on the upside down pilot’s chair. “Are you ok? Jesus did you… did you swim out here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt forces himself to sit up, albeit slowly. He’s gotten through worse than this. He can fight through pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The problem is that there isn’t any pain to fight through, just an overwhelming urge to fall asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watched you crash,” he manages to mutter. He thinks his voice sounds strange. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re soaking wet, man. And you’re shivering. We gotta…” he squats down and starts to pull on Matt’s suit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt swats his hands away. “I’m fine. Just… stop it. Stop!” He pushes the spaceman’s hands off of him again, forcing himself to stand despite the way his legs feel like lead. The walls seem to be moving closer. “I’m fine,” he lies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t look fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the one who crashed!” Talking helps. Forcing himself to focus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t crash!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt can’t help but notice something in the spaceman’s voice. He’s arrogant, yes, but it’s a cover for something else. Matt tries to focus on it, but it feels like water slipping through his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I landed. Aggressively. Besides, nobody asked you to come rescue me. How were you planning on getting me out of here, anyway? After you </span>
  <em>
    <span>saved </span>
  </em>
  <span>me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I called the Avengers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The.. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck! </span>
  </em>
  <span>You called the Avengers? Which ones?” There’s a frantic note in the spaceman’s voice. “Was it the wizard? Or the sticky kid?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I pushed a button.” Matt holds up his identicard, feeling dumb. “I’m not really sure how it works, honestly. It’s StarkTech.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stark…” the spaceman’s voice breaks. “Do you know him? Did you know him? Not that it matters, of course. I’m just curious. I don’t even care. No big deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” Matt’s taken aback by this, unsure at the deep pain he can hear, despite the obvious and rather pathetic attempts to cover it up. “I got it during the Blip.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you were here on Earth when it happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Matt’s more confused now than ever. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not important.” The spaceman is moving again, and Matt wants to say something - to tell him to calm down - that he’s going to hurt himself climbing over the upside down furniture and consoles on the ship. He’s got his legs wrapped around the chair and he’s leaning his head down, pushing buttons. “Some of the Avengers might be a bit pissed off at me, that’s all. Hey!” he points at some paneling on the far side of the ship. “I need you to go over there and help me get this thing started again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt fights the urge to sit down in the water. It’s above his ankles now. “Oh.. I… I can’t. I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, pal. I’ll talk you through it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, but…” Matt is walking towards where the spaceman is pointing, feet sloshing through the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, good. Now push the purple button with the yellow triangle looking thing on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As far as Matt can tell, it’s a smooth, flat panel. The display must be fully electronic. “I’m sorry. I can’t…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just push it. It’s fine. I promise. You’re going to push that one, and then the yellow one with the half arrow, and then the bright green one twice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt brings up his hand and lets it hover over the panel, one finger extended. “This one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No! What are you, blind? I said the purple one with the triangle bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen,” Matt walks away from the panel. “I’m really cold, and I think I might have bumped my head too. I don’t feel comfortable…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Quill jumps down and walks to where Matt is standing. “It’s not like I’m asking you to fly the thing. Just push a few…” </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>“Peter Quill”</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice is loud, coming from outside the ship. It hurts Matt’s head, which is good. The pain is sharp. It gives him something to focus on.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>“We have come to assist. Do not power up your vessel.”</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like hell,” the spaceman - Peter - and that’s a very human name - mutters under his breath. He jabs his fingers into the panel, and Matt can only assume he’s pushing the aforementioned purple, yellow, and green buttons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ship shudders to life.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>“Peter Quill,” </em>
  </b>
  <span>the voice comes again. </span>
  <b>
    <em>“I repeat, we have come to assist.”</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Matt tries to hide the frantic edge to his own voice, even though he suspects that Peter is too distracted to notice. The spaceship is loud, and it’s vibrating in a way that feels like it might tear him apart. Or crush him. Or both. It’s like an airplane but much, much worse. “They just want to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah… We might not have parted on the best terms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Matt tries to reassess the guy. Is he a fugitive? A villain? Is he helping the bad-guy? “Listen, whatever you’ve done…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Done?” Peter practically spits at him. “What the fuck, man? I haven’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>done </span>
  </em>
  <span>anything. Isn’t a guy allowed to return home every now and then? Plus, I totally landed my ship in a place where it wouldn’t cause any damage!” </span>
  <b>
    
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re from Earth?” Matt asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can tell that Peter is eyeing him suspiciously. The craft shakes again. “Of course I’m from Earth. What, do I look like some sort of space alien to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt opens his mouth and then closes it again, shaking his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ok, man? How are you feeling? Still cold? Shit, you’re still cold aren’t you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt realizes that he’s shivering again, now more than ever. He clenches his teeth to keep them from chattering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok. Alright. I know how to handle this.” Peter is frantically poking at the flat screen as he talks. “Just… just we need to get free of whatever they’ve clamped on to us, and then we need to get you dry and warm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stick you in a tauntaun or something.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The last sentence is under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>“Do not resist. You will damage your ship.”</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt can feel the ship shake. He hears four dull thuds, feels the impacts where something attaches to the outside of the ship’s hull. “Listen, they’re trying to help. You’re just going to make matters worse if you run.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter mutters something, and Matt is pretty sure it’s not in any Earth language. “Yeah, yeah. Fine.” He stabs the panel with his fingers and glares at Matt. “Don’t suppose I could get a hand shutting down engines, could I?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt doesn’t answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I thought not. Some savior you are.” His feet slip a little on the smooth, curved windshield as he makes his way back to the chair and hoists himself back up, pressing a few more buttons. The engines shut down again. “Who are you, anyway? What’s your deal?” He drops back down, landing unsteadily on his feet. Matt can feel the ship being lifted into the air by outside forces. He can hear the sound of several Stark propulsion systems. “What’s up with the ears?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your ears. On your helmet or whatever you want to call that thing. Who are you supposed to be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Daredevil, and they’re horns. Who are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Star Lord.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt doesn’t even try to contain an amused snort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Matt says, trying not to laugh. Laughing hurts. Holding it in hurts. Everything hurts. It’s a blessing. The pain is better than nothingness. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re out here looking like some halloween dominatrix, telling me your name is Daredevil, and you have the balls to laugh at my name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not laughing.” Matt is clearly laughing. His ribs hurt. Thank God.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” Peter holds out his hand. “Asshole. I’m Peter. Peter Quill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Matt responds, trying to force himself to be serious. He points a thumb in the general direction of up. “Colonel Rhodes told me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Avenger who was talking. Colonel Rhodes? War Machine? Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, Peter Quill.” Matt shakes the outstretched hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No.” Peter frowns at him. “That’s not how it works. I told you my name; now you need to tell me yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you have to.” Quill is practically pouting. “It’s the law.”</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I can promise you, it’s not.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Please Don't Drop Me Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em><span>Take me out tonight</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Because I want to see people and I</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Want to see life</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Driving in your car</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Oh, please don't drop me home</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Because it's not my home, it's their</span></em><em></em><span><br/>
</span><em><span>Home, and I'm welcome no more</span></em><em></em><span><br/>
</span> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/0WQiDwKJclirSYG9v5tayI?si=f2PxAFuDR02CvVXCa6RBIQ"><span>There is a Light That Never Goes Out: The Smiths</span></a></p><p>
  <span>It is all… kind of a lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter is sitting in a very comfortable room in a very nice building in Midtown Manhattan. His ship has been seized, even if War Machine told him they were just going to store it for him. He’s not allowed to fly it anywhere, which certainly sounds like </span>
  <em>
    <span>seized </span>
  </em>
  <span>to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t crash the Bowie. He’s had better entries in his life, but he certainly didn’t crash. There wasn’t any reason to crash. It’s a new ship. He was still getting used to it. He’d been coming in a bit faster than preferred, that’s all, and then… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he’d hit the water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, after he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>landed in the river</span>
  </em>
  <span>, some weird red-leather-bound dude showed up looking like a soaking wet Daddy come to rescue him. Not that he’d needed rescuing. Even if he was a little bit unconscious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also, the Red Leather Daddy Dude was hot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Weird, but hot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And… ok, weird but hot is kind of his thing, but also the dude’s jawline had been out of control. And his voice… Whatever. It’s fine. Don’t make a fuss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He allows himself the luxury of just lying there for a moment. His head is still feeling heavy and everything seems just a little too bright. That certainly isn’t cause for concern, right? Peter is sure he’s fine. The robot jailor that War Machine had introduced him to was probably scanning his vital functions and would tell him if he wasn’t fine. He just needed to rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter wonders how Red Leather Daddy is doing. He hadn’t seemed especially fine. He was freezing cold and soaking wet. And maybe just a little bit color blind?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever he was, he was weird. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But also hot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hopes that Red Leather Daddy had his own fancy-ass room in the fancy-ass building. He also hopes that he had a personally reasonable and normal sized apartment somewhere else, but that was a different issue for a different day. Peter isn’t super clear on how well being a New York superhero pays. Regardless, Red Leather Daddy had not seemed well, and Peter feels better believing the man is being watched over too… even if it was by a robot jailor.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Daredevil, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The man called himself Daredevil. What kind of weird-ass name is that? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets up and paces the apartment for a while, then contemplates the pros and cons of sneaking out the window before deciding instead to make himself a sandwich from the well stocked fridge, take a shower in the comically oversized bathroom, and flop back down on the stupidly soft bed. Within minutes, he’s sound asleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s the bed that he notices first when he wakes, and he can’t help but grin when he thinks that whoever he fucked last night must be loaded as hell because the thread count on these sheets is unbelievable. They must have gotten wasted, too, because he can’t remember exactly what happened or how he got here. There is a flash in his memory of thick muscles under red leather, and a strong, stubbled jawline… </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mr. Quill.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The voice is pleasant, Irish, definitely feminine… not at all matching the image in his head. He rolls over and flashes his cockiest grin. “Hey baby. Peter is fine. Or Star Lord if you’re feelin’...” He stops mid-sentence. There’s nobody there. “Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mr. Quill. Ms. Stark and Mr. Rhodes are requesting a few moments of your time at your earliest convenience. When shall I inform them that you will be available.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Right,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks, suddenly remembering the night before. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Robot jailor. </span>
  </em>
</p><p><span>Also, ‘meet with Iron Man’s Widow’</span> <span>is definitely not on the list of things he wants to do during this particular trip home. He runs a hand through his hair, feeling it stand on end. Best get it over with. “Sure. Where do they want to meet?”</span></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“They are happy to come to you, if that is what’s most convenient.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter isn’t sure if it’s convenient, so much as unavoidable. “If they don’t mind my eating while they’re here, I can be ready in 15 minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is a pause, then </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Ms. Stark says they will be there in approximately one hour.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” Peter checks the clock. It’s 6:51 PM. “Hey… um… what should I call you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You may address me as FRIDAY, Mr. Quill, and it is a pleasure to meet you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok then, Friday. Uhhh… how long was I asleep?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You have been in bed for twenty hours, seven minutes, and twenty-three seconds. This is including times when you woke up slightly during the natural pauses in your sleep cycle.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>No wonder he has to piss so bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He uses the bathroom, shovels some random food into his mouth because he’s starving, and then takes another shower because hot, running water was a goddamned luxury that you just didn’t get in space.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At 7:55, FRIDAY announces that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ms. Stark and Mr. Rhodes are on their way.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>At 8:00 PM on the dot, the door to the apartment slides open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Quill,” Pepper has a hand out, walking towards him. She’s barefoot, wearing jeans and a loose fitting, tan sweater, and yet somehow still seems to look impeccably put together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes her hand. “Please, call me Peter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles and it feels warm and inviting which isn’t at all what he was expecting. “Peter. Thank you. I know we’ve met before, but it was so brief and I will admit I was distracted.”</span>
</p><p><span>“Of course,” he looks at his feet. “I’m so sorry about…” There’s no way to finish that sentence. ‘Your loss</span> <span>doesn’t’ begin to describe what he’s feeling. ‘Fucking up the entire plan and being the reason your husband died’ feels a bit harsh.</span></p><p>
  <span>“Thank you. It’s been a challenging time for everyone.” She has a hand on his shoulder and… is she comforting him? That doesn’t seem right. “How is Thor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh… um… well, I haven’t seen him in a while, actually.” Peter can’t seem to drag his eyes up off the ground. “The Guardians and I have been doing our own things recently.” It’s not exactly a lie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing on Earth?” Rhodey’s voice is sterner than Pepper’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing much. I was craving a good New York Style bagel; thought I’d drop in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Literally,” Rhodey mutters, loud enough that Peter can clearly hear him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sorry about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have a place to stay while you’re here?” Pepper asks, and she sounds so genuine that honestly he would prefer to just argue with Rhodey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I umm… I hadn’t figured that out yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you can stay here, of course,” and when he finally meets her eyes, questioning this statement, she continues. “Tony maintained several buildings during the Blip… mostly just to keep as many people working as possible. When everyone came back, there was a housing shortage so I made the rooms available to whoever needed them. It’s a pay what you can system. If ‘what you can’ ends up nothing, that’s alright too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can pay!” And even Peter can hear the defensiveness in his voice. “I mean… maybe not right now, you know. But eventually. I have units coming to me. I can pay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you can, whenever you can is fine. It all goes to support people who can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Holy Hell, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Peter thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is anyone really this nice?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Pepper is still talking. “How long were you planning on staying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhh… I don’t really know that for sure either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem. We do generally reserve the tower for short-term housing, but you can absolutely stay here as long as you want. Or there are other buildings too. We have locations in Queens, the East Village, the Upper West Side, and Harlem. And then Clint owns a building in Bed-Stuy, if you’d rather something a little less formal. Or we can help you look outside the city. Whatever you need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bed-Stuy,” he responds quickly, fairly confident that Iron Man would not want him living in his home. “Not that this isn’t amazing, of course.” He quickly backpedals, but Pepper holds up a hand and makes an expression that says she is not offended; he doesn’t need to explain. “You sure he wouldn’t mind? Hawkeye? Clint?” Peter doesn’t know what he’s supposed to call these people. “I can help with stuff. I’m pretty handy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, I think he’d really appreciate that,” Rhodey offers, and Peter is glad it’s coming from him and not Pepper. “Clint’s not around as much these days, and the neighborhood can be a bit sketchy sometimes. There’s a bad element… Russian, I think he said. I bet Clint would love having someone in the place he can count on to just keep an eye on things, de-escalate if necessary, and fix the occasional broken washing machine. Like a super.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could do that!” Peter offers, excitedly. “I could be that person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great!” Pepper is smiling at him. “I can reach out to Clint tonight and see what he thinks about the whole deal. It’ll be wonderful having you in New York with us, Peter.” They turn to walk back onto the elevator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait!” Peter calls out at the last moment. Pepper turns around, and her face looks patient. “What happened to the guy who called you to come and get me? Daredevil... or whatever his name was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhodey lifts his eyebrows slightly in response, and Peter is pretty sure he’s smirking. “Daredevil… or whatever… went home. We offered to let him stay, but that guy doesn’t accept help from anybody.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You let him leave?” Peter is aghast. “Like, in the morning, right? Because he was halfway to hypothermia and…”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He left right after we took his statement about finding you. Listen, Daredevil was fine. He can take care of himself, I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter is at a loss for words, which isn’t something that happens to him very often! The thought of Red Leather Daddy shivering and alone…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can probably find him, if you want,” Pepper adds, calling for the elevator again. “He usually hangs out in Hell’s Kitchen. If you go there and call for him, he’ll probably come find you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call for him?” Peter starts to ask, but they’re already stepping onto an elevator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Rhodey answers. “Stand on a rooftop and shout. It works 95% of the time. Don’t be offended if he doesn’t want to hang out, though. That guy makes a cactus look cozy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let FRIDAY know if you need anything.” Pepper calls cheerily as the elevator doors start to close. “We’ll be back tomorrow about the apartment!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just like that, Peter is alone again. He flops down on the couch. “Stand on a rooftop and shout?” he says to nobody at all. Then, “Friday, am I allowed to leave the building?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Of course, Mr. Quill.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Alright. Alright, he can make this work. He rummages around in the closet, which is strangely full of clothes that appear to be in his size. Is that a coincidence? Did they put this all here for him? When had they found the time to get it? Most importantly, is he allowed to keep it? The apartment in Bed-Stuy probably won’t come with an unlimited clothing budget, and it’s not like he crash landed with much luggage. He changes his clothes while he can - a pair of dark jeans and a black t-shirt that hugs him just right, paired with his own red leather jacket… Two can play at the Red Leather Daddy game! He digs deeper into the closet and finds a medium sized</span>
  <span> brown leather bag. It’s nice. Soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heads back to the kitchen, makes up a few sandwiches, and puts them into the bag with four beers and a bag of Cheetos. As an afterthought, he grabs two bottles of water. Maybe Daredevil doesn’t drink. What does he know? Even if he does drink, he probably should be staying hydrated if he’s out fighting crime or whatever one does in a getup like his. Also, Peter’s not quite sure what to expect from a guy where the best way to get ahold of him is standing on top of a building and shouting. He figures he should probably prepare for all sorts of different scenarios. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes one look at the apartment, wondering if he is an idiot for giving it up so easily. It’s so fancy here… comes with a fully stocked fridge and a closet full of clothes and none of it feels right. He’s not sure he could live like that. It reminds him too much of the palace, which makes him twitchy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He loops the bag across his chest, travels down the elevator, and heads out into the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been a while since he’s last been in New York, and even longer since he’s been on the subway, so he decides to walk to Hell’s Kitchen. It’s not that far, and it’s a nice night. With his earbuds in and music blasting, he practically dances down the street, feeling better than he has in a long time. He even smiles at a few people he passes, before he sees them scowling and remembers that is definitely not a thing that you do in New York. Still, the night air is cool and crisp and feels good on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>New York was never home. First it was Missouri, then California, then space. But there’s something about Earth… anywhere on Earth, that just feels right. The gravity is perfect and the air feels good in his lungs and he doesn’t get stared at for being the one human walking around. Plus, there’s much less chance of someone awkwardly recognizing him. He’s not getting that anywhere else, and he’s definitely going to appreciate it while he can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not 100% certain where the borders of Hell’s Kitchen are, exactly, so he makes his way down to the docks near where he </span>
  <em>
    <span>landed </span>
  </em>
  <span>(and definitely didn’t crash) the Bowie. The biggest problem here is that the buildings aren’t that tall. War Machine had told him to stand on the top of a building and shout. Did the building need to be a specific height? The whole thing is ridiculous anyway. You’d think there would be a better way to contact someone. More than likely, this is an elaborate joke and the sticky kid is around somewhere watching… laughing at him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Only one way to find out. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He shrugs to himself, activates his jet boots, and lifts himself up to the top of a three story warehouse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s only once he’s there that the absurdity of the whole situation hits him with its full force. Is he really going to do this? Is he really going to stand on a building and shout for somebody? And for what? Earth was still pretty fucking backwards as far as relationships went. More than likely, the guy wouldn’t even be interested in him because he was a dude. He might even be offended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever. He’s here and he has beers. Who wouldn’t like that? He’s happy to just be the guy’s friend, even if War Machine had implied Daredevil didn’t have much need for those. What does War Machine know, anyway? Peter puffs out his chest, widens his stance, and yells out into the night: “HEY DAREDEVIL!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pauses. Waits. Feels foolish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although, realistically, he doesn’t have a clue how long it might take the guy to respond. How far away could Daredevil possibly be and still hear him? How long might it take him to get from where he was to where Peter is? How is he traveling? Does he have a vehicle? Peter knows the man can’t fly or anything like that, since he’d swam the Hudson river the night before to rescue him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not to </span>
  <em>
    <span>rescue </span>
  </em>
  <span>rescue him of course. He hadn’t really needed rescuing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all so fucking bizarre. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waits a minute, drops his bag on the roof of the building, then calls out again, less self assured this time, “Daredevil?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Listens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What if the guy is doing something? He is a superhero or whatever, isn’t he? A masked crime fighter? What was the word they used for that these days? It didn’t matter. What if he’s in the middle of breaking up a mugging and Peter is interrupting him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh shit, </span>
  </em>
  <span>what if he thinks Peter is getting mugged. This is a terrible plan. He’s an idiot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picks up his bag and is just about to step off the building when he hears a metallic clank followed by a soft landing behind him. Turning on his heel, he can’t help but smile when he’s greeted by the sight of Daredevil standing up from a crouch, gathering together something that sort of looks like nunchucks and putting it into a pocket on his thigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His very thick thigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Where did the guy come from and how did he get onto the roof so quickly?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also, does Daredevil use nunchucks? That would be so fucking cool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter quickly averts his eyes but, as they dart back up to Daredevil’s face, he can’t help but notice the man’s strange smile - just barely a twitch of his lips. Daredevil cocks his head to the side and almost seems to be listening, before his smirk widens into a grin and he steps forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leaving so soon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” Pete stutters, feeling suddenly very out of his element. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m kidding,” Daredevil says, saving him from having to come up with an excuse. “I was glad to hear you call. Didn’t know if we’d meet again.” He nods at the bag that Peter is holding. “What’ve you got in there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… uh…” Shit. He hadn’t really thought about how weird it might seem to just show up with sandwiches. “Haven’t been on Earth for a while,” his brain manages to spit out, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>there was a time when he was actually good at this. “Thought I might have a picnic and enjoy the Terran atmosphere. I brought enough to share, if you wanted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daredevil smiles again, and this time his tongue slides out to wet his lower lip and… yeah. Peter will be having inappropriate thoughts about that later tonight. “You usually take your picnics on the docks?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter stumbles again, and again Daredevil jumps in to save him. “Sorry, I’m just teasing you. That sounds wonderful, actually. I didn’t get a chance to eat tonight and I’m honestly starving, so I’d love to join you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh… um, that’s fantastic. Great. Yeah.” He fumbles with the bag. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck! </span>
  </em>
  <span> “I didn’t think to bring a blanket or anything…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a problem.” There’s a short wall running around the outside of the building, and Daredevil takes a seat on it. “Do you have a turkey and swiss in there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do, actually. Here.” Peter pulls out the sandwich and hands it to Matt, then sets the bag on his opposite side so it isn’t between them. “They’re not deli quality,” he admits, unwrapping his own sandwich and taking a bite. “I made them myself. But they’re all stuff from whatever Avengers headquarters you took me to last night, and they seemed to be pretty high quality.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not Avengers,” Daredevil replies, shaking his head. “It used to be Avenger’s tower, but it’s all Pepper now and she’s not with the Avengers. She’ll work with them, of course, but she’s not one of them. Not since…” He trails off.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not since Iron Man died, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Pete filled in the rest of the sentence. He stares at his sandwich, blankly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Daredevil knocks his knee against Peter’s, and the brief contact sends a small jolt of electricity through his body, bringing him out of his spiraling thoughts. “What else’ve you got in that bag? Anything to drink in there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Yeah,” Peter digs in the bag again. “I’ve got some beers and some water. Whichever you want. Or both. You can have both, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daredevil smiles and Peter can’t help but think again that the man is just really fucking pretty. Or, at least his jaw is. He wonders what Daredevil’s eyes look like. The eye holes on that mask are so small. Can he even see out of them? He’s probably got some sort of AI assisted thing going on in there, like Iron Man and his suit. He wonders if Stark designed the mask for him, how close the two men were, if Daredevil knows…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d love a beer, thanks,” Daredevil interrupts him again, reaching his hand across Peter’s body this time and digging into the bag to retrieve a beer. Peter can’t help but feel how strong the man’s bicep and shoulder are as they brush across his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve also got some Cheetos, if you want,” he says a bit more quickly than is probably necessary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daredevil shrugs. “I’m not a huge fan, actually. Something about the fake cheese powder… it just doesn’t do it for me. It’s a texture thing. And they’re too crunchy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, man.” Peter tears open the bag. “You’re wrong about that. Crunchy is where it is at. You can’t find shit like this off of Earth. It just doesn’t exist. Trust me. The rest of the galaxy is a culinary nightmare.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because they don’t have Cheetos?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daredevil laughs, and it’s a half snort and Peter finds it absolutely adorable. He takes a big bite of his sandwich to make sure he’s not tempted to tell the man so. “Thanks… for last night,” he says instead, after he’s swallowed. “I don’t think I ever said it properly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t,” Daredevil replies with another smirk. “You were too busy trying to get my clothes off, if I recall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were on the verge of hypothermia!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, so that’s your excuse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter stares at him. Is he flirting? “Do I need an excuse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could at least buy me dinner first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you call all this?” Peter gestures at the sandwiches in their hands and the beer on the ledge between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daredevil makes a small sound, as if he’s deeply offended. “First off, this is not first. This is all definitely occurring after you tried to ravage me. Second, you already said you didn’t buy any of this. Pepper Stark did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok… but I made it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You put meat and cheese between bread. You didn’t even put on any mayonnaise or mustard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s because both of those things are disgusting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What!” Daredevil has turned to face him fully, and their toes are pushing together. “Are you serious right now? A Cheeto is the height of culinary luxury, but you turn your nose up at a little whole-grain mustard? Are there no condiments on your home planet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is my home planet, man!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daredevil seems to be considering him. Peter wishes again that he could see his eyes. “So you’re really not an alien, then? Just a human-variety spaceman?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter tips back his beer and drinks. “My mom was human. My dad was… well, not. My dad is a long story. He took off before I was born, and my mom died when I was eight. I bounced around a bit, different orphanages, and headed off to space when I was 20.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh…” Daredevil is suddenly very quiet, and Peter is acutely aware of how much he just laid on the man. Too much. Enough to scare anyone away, much less someone you’ve only known for twenty-four hours. This is why he doesn’t have any friends...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Daredevil isn’t running. Instead, he places his hand gently on Peter’s knee. “I suppose I can forgive the Cheetos, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter laughs. “You called me a spaceman, and you said I tried to </span>
  <em>
    <span>ravage </span>
  </em>
  <span>you..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s what I was calling you in my head before I knew your name,” Daredevil admits with an embarrassed smile. “And you were definitely trying to ravage me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was trying to get you warm. Also, nobody says ‘ravage.’ It’s strange. But, as far as nicknames go, I suppose Spaceman isn’t too far off the mark. Besides, I was calling you ‘Red Leather Daddy’ in my head, which is probably much, much worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daredevil lets out a laugh that’s wide and exuberant. He tilts back his head, bringing a hand to the side of his face as if to hide, but Peter can see that he has laugh lines around his mouth that are clearly visible behind the man’s stubble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s contagious, and Peter finds himself laughing as well. “I guess that’s a better reaction than you punching me. But come on. What’s with the get-up, anyway. You always wear this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not always,” Daredevil answers, still laughing slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got a day-job, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup.” Daredevil finishes the last of his sandwich and chases it down with a long swig of beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gonna tell me about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm…” Peter considers him. “Alright. Keep your secrets. You want another sandwich? There’s no more turkey and swiss, but I have a turkey and cheddar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds great,” Daredevil says, taking the sandwich from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They eat the second round of sandwiches in comfortable silence, and Daredevil is finishing his second beer when he speaks again. “When I got here tonight, it seemed like you were about to step right off the edge of the building. Did I read that wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. No, you didn’t.” Peter takes another drink of his own beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that all about? You couldn’t have been that distraught just thinking I wasn’t going to show.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Oh. No. Rocket boots, man.” He kicks softly at the wall behind his heels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As in, you can fly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh… yeah?” He’s a bit taken aback and how interested Daredevil sounds. Peter had assumed Daredevil was hanging around hero types all day; he wouldn’t expect rocket boots to impress a guy like that. ”You want a ride?” He asks tentatively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell yeah!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great!” Peter throws back the last of his beer then stands up, letting his sandwich wrapper flutter to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please tell me you are not going to litter in my city,” Daredevil reprimands him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No. Of course not.” Peter quickly gathers the garbage and tucks it into his bag before holding the bag out to Daredevil, who puts his own garbage in as well. Peter moves to stand close to his side, then wraps his arm around the man’s waist tightly. “Put your arm over my shoulder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a bit awkward. Daredevil is a good four inches shorter than he is, which is a thing he hadn’t even noticed until he got right up next to the guy. The way he carries himself makes him look much taller than he really is. Peter can feel the strength in the arm draped over his shoulder. His hand is just above Daredevil’s hip, and he can feel how solid the man is. He allows himself to wonder, just for a moment, what’s underneath the red and black leather before he asks, “You ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t go far; just a gentle ride down to the street below, but they shift slightly mid-air and by the time they land Daredevil is more in front of him than beside. When he releases Peter’s shoulder, Daredevil’s hand drifts, pausing for just a breath in the small of Peter’s back. It’s such a light touch, so subtle a gesture, that Peter suspects he may have imagined it… that he’s putting meaning into something that isn’t there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Daredevil is smiling again, stepping backwards, the moment evaporating. “Well, Star Lord, I should be off. But I’d like to do this again sometime, if you were interested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am. Interested, I mean. I uh…” He stutters again. “I might be moving to Brooklyn soon. Gonna help take care of a building or something, in exchange for an apartment for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clint’s place?” Daredevil asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daredevil seems to consider that, then nods once. “Bed-Stuy is kind of a hike for me, but I’ll see what I can do. For now, how about you meet me here?” He pulls a small pad of paper and a pen out of a hidden pocket, writes something, then tears it out and hands it to Peter. “I’ll bring the food next time. Sound like a plan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man smiles again, and Peter is dazzled by it. He nods once and manages to mumble out a “yeah, sounds good” before Daredevil is turning away. He takes a few steps across the open lot before breaking into a run, and Peter watches with wonder as he throws up a thin wire which catches on the roof of an adjacent building, and then swings himself up into the sky. “Jesus,” Peter whispers under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s half way back to the tower before he realizes that Daredevil didn’t say when Peter should meet him at the address tucked safely into his back pocket.  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to everyone who read and commented on the first chapter. I adore you!</p><p>Things start to heat up in the next chapter. These two had absolutely no interest in being a slow burn...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Strange as Angels</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>You, soft and only, you lost and lonely</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>You, strange as angels</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Dancing in the deepest oceans</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Twisting in the water</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>You’re just like a dream.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/76GlO5H5RT6g7y0gev86Nk?si=l4vwoY3gR_iIeFTX-_2xVA">
    <span>Just Like Heaven: The Cure</span>
  </a>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt calls Theo first thing the next morning to see if he has any of those pre-made mini-lasagnas the shop stocks sometimes. He says yes, but his heartbeat says no and Matt wonders for a moment if he should call him out on it. He decides not to, because they’re really good and he knows that Theo always sells out of them right away, and orders two. When he picks them up that evening, the air in a five-block radius around Nelson’s Meats smells like lasagna. It’s intoxicating. He once again considers the pros and cons of moving into one the apartments above the store. Pros: Lasagna smells. Cons: No way to escape Foggy’s mom pinching his cheek when she’s in the city visiting. Then again, Foggy’s folks love Florida. They’re really only back in New York twice a year these days. It was a lot harder when Foggy was gone and they treated Matt like the only thing left of him in the world…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes himself back to the lasagna smells. Moving might be worth it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In addition to the lasagna, Matt gets an antipasto salad and a bottle of red wine. He’s not sure when Peter’s going to show up - figured he’d leave that ball in his court - but thanks to those rocket boots he can hear him coming when he’s twenty minutes away which gives him plenty of time to get the lasagna heated up. One can go in the freezer, and the other will keep overnight in case Star Lord comes tomorrow and not today. And if he doesn’t come tomorrow, either? Well… then Matt can drown his sorrows in an entire 6”x6” sheet of lasagna. It’s made for two, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d demolished one by himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or the last, he’s sure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carbs are delicious. He has no shame.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s barely out the door when he hears Theo calling Foggy to ask who Matt’s new girlfriend is, giving a full description of Matt’s purchase as his evidence, so that’s something he’s going to have to deal with tomorrow at work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt grabs the door for Mrs. Ramirez on the way into his building, puts away his groceries, then flops down on his couch with a beer to do a bit of reading for the Murphy case. It should be fairly open and shut. Yes, the kid had been driving the get-away car, but also he thought his sister was going into the liquor store to buy beer, not to rob the place. When she’d come out screaming for him to drive, he’d thought someone inside the building had been shooting at his sister. He hadn’t realized that she was the one who had been doing the shooting until after they were several blocks away and even then he’d tried to call the cops. Matt was pissed the case against had even made it this far; it should have been thrown out immediately. The kid’s record was totally clean, and his sister had a ton of priors… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it’s a black teen’s word against the cops, so Matt knows he’d better take it pretty fucking seriously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s halfway through the file, fingers dancing lightly over the raised bumps on the page, when he hears the faint, soft whir of whatever mechanism powers Peter’s boots. He preheats the oven and takes the lasagna out to come to room temperature, then stops to listen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter is walking again, which is a good thing. Up until exactly that moment, Matt hadn’t considered the fact that the man might actually fly to his apartment, and that definitely would have screwed up his timing. He changes into his Daredevil suit, then begins to get things ready. The lasagna goes into the oven when Peter is exactly 15 minutes out, assuming he maintains his speed. As he gets closer, Matt starts to notice other things about him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s wearing what Matt believes is the same leather jacket and has the same bag slung across his chest. He’s got the same boxy, double barreled weapons hanging from his hip. Or, at least Matt assumes they’re weapons. They’re definitely not from Earth; of that much he’s certain. Peter also has a small, metallic earpiece behind his right ear and that thing… Matt hasn’t been able to focus on it very hard yet because every time he does his head starts spinning. It reminds him of the one time he fought alongside Scott. Dude shrunk down to nothing and Matt had to sit down in the middle of the battle and put his head between his knees. A person shouldn’t be allowed to just fuck with the laws of physics like that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s about eight minutes out when Matt notices something else. It’s regular Earth technology, so it doesn't stand out as much over the roar of the rest of the city, but he can hear it if he tries. The man’s got earbuds in, and now that Matt realizes it he can’t help but notice the extra bounce in Peter’s step as he walks around to the beat. Matt knows it’s an invasion of privacy, but he’s well past caring about things like that if he’s being honest. He focuses, narrows his attention, and listens.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t help but laugh out loud.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter Quill is listening to The Cure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is definitely the strangest spaceman Matt has ever met. Ok, he’s the only spaceman Matt has ever met, but there’s something about him… Matt is definitely intrigued.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulls the lasagna out of the oven with a few minutes to spare, letting it cool on his counter while he gathers everything else. The salad and wine, along with some disposable plates, glasses, forks, and napkins go into one paper grocery bag, while the lasagna itself goes into a second bag. He snags the blanket off the back of his couch as he walks past, headed up the stairs and out the service door onto the roof. He’s just got the blanket spread out and is starting to lay food out on it when he hears the boots power up below him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stands, steps away from the blanket and leans up against the door to his apartment, trying to look casual. He can feel the warmth from the rockets, he can hear the catch in Peter’s breath as he raises above the rooftop and sees Matt there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And yeah, Matt likes that. He likes that Peter wants him, even when he’s fully covered up by the suit and mask. His face is hidden. He isn’t dressed to impress.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can tell that Peter is dressed to impress. The hem of his shirt ripples in the wind, giving away how thin the fabric is. He can feel the way it’s stretched tightly across Peter’s muscular chest and biceps. He can’t tell what color Peter’s pants are, but he can tell that they’re denim with just a bit of stretch, and that they’re tight, hugging to the curves of Peter’s thighs. His hair is windblown and he’s smirking and Matt can tell that he is nervous as hell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s really fucking cute.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s already figured out that Peter talks when he’s anxious, that he hides his nerves behind bluster and bravado, that he laughs the loudest when he most wants to hide. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking hell</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Matt wants to break that all down, to strip it away from him, to see what’s underneath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt wants Peter. He wants to know what those muscles feel like under his fingers. He wants to know what Peter tastes like under his lips. He wants to hear what sounds he can pull out of him. Wants to see if, just maybe, he can make him cry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he’s not going to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not tonight anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s done it before. He’s used his enhancements to move a relationship along to the next level more quickly than might necessarily be considered appropriate in polite circles - when the other party wanted it of course. And only if they wanted it. He might be a freak, but he’s no monster.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was before, though, back when “everyone goes away eventually” had a much different meaning. Back when Matt only thought that he knew what it was like to be abandoned, to be alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d had no idea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karen and Foggy, Danny and Luke, Colleen and Claire… they’d all vanished in the Decimation. And Jessica… she’d taken it harder than even Matt. She’d just lost Trish. It had all been too much for her and she’d run away. Disappeared. Matt still didn’t know where she’d gone, only that every answer she’d ever given to that question had been a lie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d made her way back to New York three years after half of everyone had vanished- the city calls you - and Matt had found her. They’d even lived together for a while, trying to find something to hold on to. Matt had even thought, foolishly, that they might make it work. He’d gone so far as to buy a ring. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then the Decimation had been reversed and everyone had come back and Jessica had decided Matt didn’t need her anymore, and just like that she was gone again. He hasn’t heard from her since, although sometimes he can feel her moving about the city. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even when people were coming back, they still went away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t take super powers of observation to know that Peter isn’t here to stay. He vibrates at a different frequency. He feels like he belongs in space. Matt can’t imagine dragging someone like that down to Earth. The man is intriguing and Matt isn’t going to send him away, but he knows what he needs to do to make sure he doesn’t get hurt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Don’t get too close.</span>
</p>
<p><span>Don’t get too attached.</span><br/><br/>Don't let him in.</p>
<p>
  <span>They talk as they eat the lasagna and drink the wine, and it’s casual: what foods they like, their favorite TV shows growing up, what music they enjoy. Peter loves music, and his passion is infectious. Matt shares that he was raised in an orphanage too, but nothing more about his past. They’re both holding back. They agree to meet again the next night, same place, same time, and then Matt is swinging into the city wondering why, exactly, that he is so drawn to this man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next night, Peter brings Chinese. It’s good, not Matt’s favorite, but acceptable. Matt is spoiled from going to all the best places with Danny and Colleen, and he tells Peter as much. That makes something in Peter shut down, and Matt knows from that not to ask about Peter’s friends. They get together the night after that (Matt brings Thai) and Matt asks him about the stars instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s all I ever wanted,” Peter says softly. He’s lying on his back on Matt’s roof, and Matt has his head resting on his chest. “When I was little, I would sneak out onto the roof of the orphanage and stare up at the stars all night, just dreaming of a way to get to them. Of course, I wanted to get there so I could kill the aliens who had murdered my mom, but still… It’s the thought that counts, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very romantic,” Matt agrees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is.” Peter’s voice is soft. “You ever stare up at the stars when you were a kid, Double D?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not as much as I would have liked.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter sighs, draws a finger softly over one of Matt’s horns. “Stupid nuns kept you inside, didn’t they. Big jerks. All the time for Jesus and no time for the stars.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt laughs. “Something like that, yeah. I was always on lock-down… got in trouble for fighting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter lets out a sarcastic gasp. “I’m shocked. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Truly</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Matt slaps his thigh. “You don’t know me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d like to.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s something so sincere in his voice that it stops Matt dead in his tracks. Peter’s fingers are still trailing across Matt’s mask, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t ask.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt’s just not ready for that yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me about the stars,” Matt says instead. “Which ones have you visited? Is space nice?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Peter smiles, and he lifts the hand that was on Matt’s mask to point at the stars Matt will never see. “That one there, that looks like it’s flickering a bit?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt hums in non-committal agreement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s Sirius. There are four habitable planets orbiting Sirius. They’re nice enough, I suppose. I took Thor there, and he ended up fighting some wolf looking guy. It was weird. Do you know Thor?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know </span>
  <em>
    <span>of </span>
  </em>
  <span>Thor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You never worked with the Avengers?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt shrugs, turning his head and nuzzling it into Peter’s chest a little. “I’ve worked with Spider-Man. He’s a good kid. And I worked with Cap… Commander Rogers,” he corrects himself, “a bit before the snap was reversed. The Black Widow and I went way back. But other than that…” He paused for a second. “I don’t always do well on a team.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something inside of Peter flickers - the same response he gets when Tony Stark gets mentioned. Guilt. Shame. Matt considers again whether or not to ask the spider-kid what went down when they were off planet, but he doesn’t want to open old wounds for anyone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But what about the others you talked about? Danny and Colleen and Luke?” Peter is continuing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t always do that well together, either.” Matt rolls over, props himself up on his elbows bringing his face over Peter’s. “Hey,” he smiles down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt takes a quiet moment to take Peter in, and not for the first time that night. He’s got the jacket off this time, pillowed under his head along with one of his arms. His free hand is now resting softly on Matt’s hip. He smells like spicy Thai food and the soaps and shampoo that Matt knows Pepper stocks at the tower, but not much else. That’s something that took him a moment to pinpoint about Peter - the way he doesn’t really smell like </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s disconcerting, sometimes, but it's also something that Matt knows drew him to Peter in the first place. He’s a mystery in a way that so many people aren’t - their scents telling their personal histories just like reading through a diary. Matt can tell you everything Peter’s eaten, everywhere he’s been since he crashed into the Hudson, but before that? Before that there is nothing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leans forward and brushes his lips across Peter’s, delicate and light, hardly even enough to be called a kiss. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter sighs, and Matt leans forward again, pressing their mouths together this time, breathing in the soft sounds as Peter parts his lips, inviting Matt to lick between them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt takes the invitation, and he’s rewarded by a deep groan and Peter’s hand desperately running up and down his side, searching for a place to grab on, to sink his fingers in, but the suit wasn’t made for that and Peter settles for awkwardly cupping his jaw - the only piece of exposed skin available outside of Matt’s hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they pull away, Peter is gasping for breath and the warmth of his lips tells Matt that they’re swollen. He bites the lower one, softly, a small nip just because he can, and then he traces a single finger over the spot, memorizing the curve of Peter’s mouth. It’s as much as he’ll allow himself right now; anything more might be suspicious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lets out a sigh of his own, then lowers himself back down to rest his cheek once again on Peter’s chest, Peter’s hand resuming its tracing of the outlines of Matt’s suit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose it’s getting to be about that time.” Peter is the one to break the silence. “I’d hate to be the one who keeps you from saving the city. I can just see the headlines now: </span>
  <em>
    <span>New York City Burns while Devil of Hell's Kitchen Canoodles on Rooftop with Unbelievably Handsome Mystery Man.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ha!” Matt barks out a laugh. “Jameson would just call us both menaces and be done with the whole thing! But yeah… I should probably get to work.”</span>
</p>
<p><span>“You ever get a day off? Got somebody who can cover your shifts every now and then? Some sort of sassy out of office reply you can throw up on your </span><em><span>Save the City </span></em><span>AOL account?”</span> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, that’s exactly how it works,” Matt replies with a smile. “Please, continue.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I…” And oh, there it is again. The nervous energy peeks through for just a moment before Peter throws up his walls of bravado. “As much as I love eating on a rooftop in Hell’s Kitchen, it’s supposed to rain tomorrow and I might just have a brand new apartment in a kind of shitty building in Bed-Stuy, if you want to check it out. I hear the owner’s a real slum-lord, but at least it has walls and a roof.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I see how it is. Suddenly you’re too good for rooftops and carryout. Are you cooking, then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I could.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Should I be afraid?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? No!” Peter is rising up, moving Matt with him until Matt is sitting with Peter kneeling behind him. He’s got his chin resting on Matt’s shoulder, one hand wrapped around Matt’s shoulder, and the other gesturing dramatically out beyond the horizon. “I’m a master of cuisine from across the galaxy, Big D. I’ve dined - and then dashed - from the fanciest of restaurants. All the hotspots - that let in known criminals. I have a palate like you wouldn’t believe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I already know you don’t like condiments.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you drop it with the mustard already?” Peter swings himself around so he’s sitting on Matt’s lap, knees bracketing his thighs and - holy shit - yes please he wants more of that. Matt can’t stop the small gasp that escapes his lips, and the stutter of Peter’s heart tells him that he heard. </span>
  <span>Peter leans forward and presses their lips together briefly, before running kisses along Matt’s jawline, nosing along the seam where the cowl meets his skin. “I’ll get a pizza,” he whispers in Matt’s ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sold,” Matt growls, and he wraps his hand around Pete’s back, rucking up his shirt and seeking out skin before diving in to kiss the man again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It feels like hours later when he breaks off the kiss. His legs are going numb beneath him from holding his and Peter’s combined weights and his hands are tingling from being pressed up against Peter’s skin. Peter’s heart is pounding and his blood vessels are dilated and his toes are twitching.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s absolutely adorable and Matt wants more of it. He wants it more than he’s willing to admit, even to himself. He allows himself one more soft kiss and then forces himself to get up and to get to work. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He can only avoid telling Foggy and Karen for so long, and when he finally does it doesn’t go well. Matt replays the conversation in his head as he clenches his hands tightly around his cane and tries to ward off a panic attack.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Who are you dating?” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karen was… not pleased. Matt had hoped that she and Foggy would be amused, at least happy that he was seeing someone but no. That appeared to not be the case. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I told you, his name is Star Lord.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Star Lord?” Foggy repeated, and - yeah - Matt had said it was stupid too, but that was only because he was flirting with the guy and Foggy has no right. Matt was definitely feeling defensive. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah. He’s a Guardian of the Galaxy.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Is that his actual job title, or like a thing that people call him as a joke?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Give me a break, Foggy. He’s worked with the Avengers. He’s out doing stuff with Thor right now.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well not right now,” Karen chimed in. And UGH Matt hated his friends sometimes. “Right now he is apparently renting an apartment from Clint Barton who, by the way, I thought you couldn’t stand. What is he doing here, Matt? How long is he staying? What does he want out of all this?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Can’t I just see a guy and not have it lead to anything more?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Jesus, Matt, that’s all you can do!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>And ouch, Foggy, that hurt.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “But you beat yourself up about the fact that nobody ever sticks around, and then you go and hook up with a guy who is literally going to leave because he lives in outer space? Outer space, Matt!!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Can I have a ride or not?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Not, Matt.” Foggy sounded exasperated. “Not. Marci and I have plans tonight and I’m not going to ask her to....”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No,” Matt waved him off. “Of course not. It’s fine.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So that is how Matt finds himself sitting on the subway, the bane of his existence, headed towards Bed-Stuy. It’s too loud. He can hear the creak of the train as it thunders down the tracks. There’s a screw loose in the coupler two cars up, and he can hear it rattling in its casing. It probably won’t fall out on this trip, but it’s still very unnerving and he says a quick prayer that this train gets maintenance very, very soon. Outside the car, he can feel the cold oppressiveness of the earth pushing down on them. Vents and access tunnels stream by, changing the airflow and causing it to swirl in unexpected ways. Debris on the tracks causes the train to shudder, vibrating up through his entire body as he clamps down, white knuckled on his cane, searching for anything solid. Focusing his attention inside the car isn’t much help. The odor is overpowering, unwashed people and seats and floors. He leans forward, trying not to let his arms scrape against the rough plastic, trying to ignore the way the bench beneath him digs into the backs of his thighs. He can hear the sounds of twenty-seven individual phones playing music and podcasts and books on tape. Someone is eating beef jerky. Three cars down a baby is crying. A man is looking at pornography and muttering to himself. Matt feels like he’s about to burst apart at the seams. By the time the near hour subway ride is over, he feels like he’s been fighting for his life and he’s not sure that he won. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s only been to Clint’s building twice before, but it’s enough that he knows his way and he tries to use the time walking there from the station to calm himself. There’s a gentle breeze. A few birds are still singing and he can feel the moment when the sun drops below the horizon and the city moves from dusk to darkness. It’s comforting, but still wrong. Brooklyn isn’t Manhattan. It doesn’t feel the same, or smell the same, or sound the same. It’s quieter which, in a strange way, makes it louder. Each sound is more important. The noises don’t blend together like they should, allowing him to pick out more specifics than he’d like. By the time he reaches the building, he feels better than he did when he’d exited the subway station but there’s still the unmistakable thrum of anxiety under his skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s come straight from work without bothering to change, mask tucked securely in a hidden pocket of his briefcase. He’s ready for a lot, but he’s not ready to share that last piece of himself yet. He approaches the building from behind, slipping into a shadowy corner and listening, carefully, before retrieving his mask and drawing it over his face. He cocks his head to the side, identifies the sounds of Peter on the fourth floor, then scales the fire escape to his window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The window is open, and Matt slides inside without knocking. The apartment is identical to Hawkeye’s in layout - a single room, with a living room area on one end and a galley kitchen on the other. Metal stairs lead up to the lofted bedroom and bathroom. It’s lightly furnished, but the pieces that are there are quality and Matt can feel Pepper’s hand in the whole thing. Peter is up in the bedroom with his back to Matt, music on loud, unaware that he’s no longer alone. He’s dancing, or some proximity of dancing, listening to more of The Cure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt drops his briefcase and clears his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter spins around quickly, his heart rate skyrocketing, calming, and then rising again, and Matt can feel his eyes as they rake over him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And maybe Matt is dressed to impressed, just a little bit this time - jeans that he allows himself to wear to work when they’re not expecting clients. He’s washed them into submission, so they’re soft against his skin. A plain t-shirt with a dress shirt over it, unbuttoned now, tie shoved deep into the bottom of his briefcase alongside his cane. He’s wearing his favorite pair of sneakers. He has no idea how he looks, but he feels good, and he knows he got more than a few appreciative glances on his way here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s reaction seems to confirm his theory.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy shit, D. Look at you.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt hardly has time to process the fact that Peter has literally vaulted himself over the railing and off of his loft before his boots are breaking his fall and he’s landing softly. He moves towards Matt like he’s on a mission, arms immediately wrapping around Matt’s back and ruching up his shirt, sliding his hands underneath. After an hour of overstimulation on the subway, Peter’s hands feel like heaven - hot and solid and real against Matt’s skin. The sound of Peter’s heart pounding is drowning out everything else, and Matt allows himself to sink into it. Peter’s breath is warm and Matt leans forward, capturing Peter’s lips as Peter fists a hand into the exposed hair at the nape of Matt’s neck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What time is the pizza coming,” Matt pulls away long enough to ask, before kissing along Peter’s jawline, enjoying the rough burn of his short beard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Haven’t ordered it yet,” Peter replies, and his hands are moving down to Matt’s shoulders, pushing off his dress shirt. “Didn’t know what you would want. Is this ok?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More than ok.” Matt shrugs out of the shirt and lets it drop to the floor. “How does a late dinner sound to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘M suddenly not very hungry. Not for pizza, anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck. Come’ere.” He grins at Matt, then wraps an arm around him. Matt holds on tightly to Peter’s neck as he leans down to activate his boots, and then they’re airborne.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No time for stairs?” Matt asks with a laugh as they touch down in the lofted bedroom. “Or are you just trying to impress me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, now I need to try,” Peter replies, pulling his own shirt up and over his head in a single, fluid movement. “And I’m suddenly feeling very impatient.” He moves towards Matt, then pauses, fingers hovering over the hem of Matt’s shirt. “You sure you’re ok with this? You don’t even want to tell me your name.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The question is so sincere that it takes Matt by surprise, having gotten so accustomed to Peter’s constant overcompensating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes just a moment to listen to Peter’s breathing, checking in, making sure the man is ok, before he brushes Peter’s hands aside and removes his shirt, lifting it carefully over his head so as to not disturb his mask.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter lets out a small gasp, and then his hands are on Matt’s chest. “Always getting in trouble for fighting,” Peter murmurs, as his fingers brush across Matt’s scars. “Is whoever did this to you still around?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah. I took care of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That doesn’t surprise me.” Peter’s voice is low and his shield of confidence returns as he walks backwards towards the bed, pulling Matt along with him. Matt misses it for a moment, the raw honesty that Peter’s voice had held. But it’s easier this way. This way, he knows where he stands - knows what he’s getting himself into. He knows what’s expected of him. Peter continues, “You seem like the kinda guy who takes care of things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt pushes himself into Peter’s space. “That what you want, sweetheart? You want somebody to take care of you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter shakes his head, biting his lower lip and batting his eyes at Matt. “Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>somebody. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You, D. Want you to take care of me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt straight up growls, a noise from somewhere deep in the back of his throat, and he’d probably be embarrassed to have made such a noise if he took time to think about it. But Peter seems to like it, if his spiking heart rate and panting breath are any indication, so Matt doesn’t think about it. Instead he pushes Peter back onto the bed and climbs up after him, bracketing him with his body. He finally allows himself to bring a hand to Peter’s face, drawing his fingers across his chin and over the bridge of his nose. “So beautiful,” he breathes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly he drags his hand down, taking a moment to cup Peter’s neck before sitting back on his heels so he can bring both hands to Peter’s shoulders, trailing them down his chest, feeling the curves of his pecs, the hard pebbling of his nipples, the smooth planes of his abs. He stalls when he reaches Peter’s waistband, wanting to go back and start over, to learn every inch of Peter’s skin in the way a sighted man would never take the time to do. He felt greedy for it, desperate like he hasn't felt for years. But he can’t. He won’t risk it. That’s not what they’re there for. He raises his eyes and licks his lower lip, questioning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come’on, D. Yes. Please!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt smiles and carefully strips down Peter’s pants, letting his fingertips drag against skin as he goes. He kisses his way back up, licking along the crease between Peter’s hip and thigh before bringing his lips to the tip of his cock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter tastes like he smells, neutral and clean, and it drives Matt wild. His skin is a little salty, and his pre-come is a little bitter, but outside of that there’s nothing. Just firm, smooth, warm skin, and Matt can’t get enough of it. He wraps his mouth around the head and hollows his cheeks as Peter writhes on the sheets beneath him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“D. Oh, shit, D. Holy fuck!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt pulls off long enough to smile up at him, then spits in his hand and sets to work, taking as much of Peter into his mouth as he comfortably can and letting his hand cover the rest. He’s never bothered learning to deep throat. There’s no need, really, when his hands are as good as he knows they are.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Peter doesn’t seem to have a complaint - not if the curses falling out of his mouth are any indication. Matt uses his free hand to hold Peter’s hips down where they’re trying to thrash off the bed, using the point of contact as an excuse to sometimes stray up and trace the outline of his ribs, or to sway down and palm the swell of his ass. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s getting close; Matt can feel it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait!” he gasps, and Matt pulls away immediately. “You too. Together. Please. Want…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt shushes him, kissing back up his chest while struggling to unbutton his own pants, pushing them down just enough to free his cock and grinding into Peter who is still spit-slick. He rests on his forearm, wants to be as close as possible, to feel the man’s heat, to breathe his air.  Matt takes a moment to rut against Peter, feeling the slide of their bodies together, chests and hips and cocks. He kisses and bites along Peter’s jaw and neck, tasting the salt of the man’s sweat, feeling each small tremor of his body, eventually reaching down between their bodies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“JesusFuck</span>
  <em>
    <span>!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Peter shouts as Matt wraps his hand around both of them, and Matt can’t even be bothered to care about the blasphemy as he begins to stroke with a steady hand, relishing the feel of Peter’s smooth skin rubbing up against his own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter is babbling beneath him, writhing and squirming and Matt feels like he could come from the sounds that he’s making alone. This is what he gets off on - hearing and feeling someone come apart, knowing that he caused it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“D. D, please. D, I’m so close. Please. Please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I got you sweetheart.” He leans forward and nips at Peter’s chest as he twists his wrist and drags his thumb along the vein. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The noise Peter makes as he comes is wordless and formless, a moan and a gasp and a wail rolled up into one, and if Matt wasn’t monitoring every nerve in Peter’s body, he might be worried he was in pain. His legs hook around Matt’s thighs and his nails dig into Matt’s back, but it’s the warmth of his release that sends Matt over the edge, pulsing into his own hand and onto Peter’s torso.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit,” he gasps, falling forward into Peter's arms, which wrap tightly around him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit is right,” Peter echoes back at him. “D… that was. Just… Fuck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So eloquent,” Matt teases, trying to nuzzle his nose into the crook of Peter’s neck. The mask is in the way and he considers taking it off, considers telling Peter his name, considers asking him to stay and never go back to space. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t do any of those things.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>...it was never going to be a slow burn with these two...</p>
<p>Hope you enjoyed!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Don't Think You've Got it Made</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em><span>I'm not in love</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>So don't forget it</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>It's just a silly phase I'm going through</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>And just because</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>I call you up</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Don't get me wrong, don't think you've got it made</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>I'm not in love, no no, it's because</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>I like to see you</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>But then again</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>That doesn't mean you mean that much to me</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/5HQEmiV2lKnSO6qa2fsR7x?si=KRnrO3tQTbKASfyMv7oDKw"><span>I’m Not in Love: 10cc</span></a></p>
<p>
  <span>Peter is stretched out on his couch, one arm hanging off the edge, legs hanging over the armrest, and he allows himself a moment to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>be. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yeah, he should clean up the pizza boxes, and he should definitely change the sheets, but both of those things will hold. There’s a breeze streaming in through the open window, and he can hear the sounds of the city outside, and right now all he wants is to lay in hazy contentment and bask in the way that D made him feel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s not 100% clear what D’s super-power is, but he wouldn’t be surprised if somebody told him it was sex because holy fucking shit that man did things with his hands that could make a grown man weep. Did, in fact, make a grown man weep. It’s him. He’s the grown man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lets his mind drift back to earlier that evening, thinks about the way D’s body had looked as it crowded over him. The strength in his chest and his arms as he’d held himself above Peter in the bed. Daredevil’s body was clearly accustomed to violence, marked as it was with scars and fading bruises, but his hands had been unbelievably gentle and Peter was fairly certain that nobody had ever touched him like that before. It had been a revelation - the edge of too much. D’s hands had felt like they were pulling secrets out of his body that Peter wasn’t sure he was prepared to give. Like the man could know his past, his history, all of the terrible things he’d done - all the people he’d let down - just by touching him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the mask… well, if Peter had spent the past few days trying to convince himself he didn’t have a mask kink, there was no denying it now. It was just so fucking erotic. The horns. The eyes that practically glowed red. And yet… Peter couldn’t help but wonder why. Why? If the man was willing to be vulnerable with him in all those other ways…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except he hadn’t been vulnerable, had he? D had been in control the entire time. There was just the briefest of moments, right after D came, when he had collapsed down onto Peter’s chest and breathed a shuddering breath. If Peter closes his eyes, he can practically feel it - the way the man’s hand had reached up, tentatively, and traced a single finger over his lips and down the curve of his chin. It had been so tender. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter shakes his head, clearing it. It doesn’t matter. D wants to keep his identity a secret, and that is absolutely fine with him. It isn’t like this is a long term thing; he isn’t looking for that. Just a bit of fun while he’s hiding out on Earth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Just a bit of fun...</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>After D had given him the hand-job by which all future hand-jobs would be judged and found lacking, they had - in fact - ordered a pizza, eaten said pizza, and then sat down on the couch to watch a movie. Except D hadn’t been terribly interested in watching said movie, even though it was Risky Business which was, arguably, the greatest movie of all time. They’d ended up grinding up against each other on the couch like teenagers until D had dropped down to his knees between Peter’s thighs and finished him off with his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And oh man, his mouth. And his hands. Has Peter mentioned his hands? His hands are quality.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter takes a deep breath. After only one day of living there, his apartment smells like pizza and sex. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s amazing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, he forces himself to get up - to move from the couch to his bed where he collapses without bothering to take a shower or change the sheets. It certainly isn’t that he likes the reminder that D had been there, in his apartment, running those hands all over his skin. That would make him weird and attached and he certainly was neither of those things. This wasn’t the kind of thing you got attached to. He doesn’t even know D’s real name. He hasn’t seen his face for fuck’s sake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wonders, momentarily, if D has scars on his face like the ones on his chest. Maybe he’s mutilated, embarrassed, and that’s why he won’t take the damn thing off. The thought that D might be ashamed, might be worried that Peter won’t like him if he sees his face, makes him sad. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t matter. They’re both having a good time and that’s all that matters. It’s not like he’s looking to connect with anyone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He always ends up screwing that up anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And ok, maybe he does take a peek at D’s number in his phone, but if he does it’s only to be sure it saved properly and not because seeing it there gives him a small thrill. Even if the actual moment of getting it had been a bit odd… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I want you to put my number in your phone, in case you need me,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>D had said, fishing the phone out of Peter’s pants and handing it to him. He’s been told it’s the latest model from StarkTech. He’s hardly touched it since he got it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Put it in there yourself,” he complained. “I don’t know how to use that thing.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Learn how to use it. It’s your phone.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Deeeee,” Pete had whined. “Can’t you do it for me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“If you want my number, you’ll learn how to use it fast,” he’d replied, pushing the phone into Peter’s hand.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter smiled at the number now, all glowing and there… right above Pepper’s number. Literally the only two people on Earth who he could conceivably call. Well… and the Pizza place. He’d called the pizza place. D wouldn’t do that for him either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should save the number of the pizza place to his phone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has this thought on his mind and a smile on his lips as he drifts off to sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s woken the next morning by someone knocking on his door. He rises lazily, stretching, and throws on a pair of gym shorts and a cropped shirt. The shorts are definitely on the short side, and they make his ass look spectacular, and the shirt shows off his abs. Who knows, it might be D on the other side of the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not that he’s trying to impress D or anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opens the door to find Rhodey already glaring at him. “No. Absolutely not. This is completely unacceptable. You need to put some real clothes on. Immediately.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter snorts and walks to the kitchenette to make himself a protein shake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not kidding. I can’t talk to you when you look like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then don’t talk to me,” Peter retorts. “It’s my apartment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you seem to be trashing it already,” Rhody says, taking in the pizza box and empty beer bottles. “Did you have a party last night or something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or something,” Peter says with a wink, throwing back the shake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhodey’s eyes land on Peter’s pants, crumpled on the floor, and go wide with surprise. “Who…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I look like the kind of guy to kiss and tell?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Actually, yes. Very much so,” Rhodey replies, giving him an assessing once over. “But also I know you don’t know anybody. Just me and Pepper and…” His eyes go comically wider. “Are you telling me that you had a pantsless party with Daredevil?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter shrugs innocently, knowing the answer is written all over his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhodey huffs out a breath. “Alright. Live dangerously, I guess. Daredevil… that guy is all sorts of messed up. I saw him take down 20 guys with his bare hands once - no weapons. Just his fists. But you shoot somebody one time and he will go all sanctimonious on your ass. A real ‘holier than thou’ sort of attitude. Did you see his face?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter shakes his head, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What an asshole.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter wants to say something, to defend Daredevil, but he’s at a loss for words. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway, I did not come here to learn about your terrible taste in men. I came here because I’ve got a job for you, if you want it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. A friend of Spider-Man’s is opening up a bar a few blocks from here. She’s… well…” Rhodey pauses, searching for the right words. “She’s questionable. Made some bad choices in the past. But Spider-Man seems to think she’s reformed and he generally has a good read on people. Anyway she’s looking for a bartender three nights a week. And we’re looking for somebody to keep an eye on the place. Think you could do that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, man. Definitely. Thanks!!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No problem. Like I said, there’s something in it for us, too. We expect the place to bring in a lot of unsavory types; we want a man on the inside, and people don't know who you are."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ouch.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You start tonight at 7. Pepper gave me your number. I’ll text you the address.” He gives Peter one more once over. “I’m sorry I called your boy an asshole.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter shrugs. “It’s fine. He’s not my boy. We’re just…” he gestures vaguely “...wasting time I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhodey’s eyes narrow. “Whatever you say. Daredevil doesn’t strike me as the type who wastes a lot of time, but I suppose you would know that better than me. I’ll text you the info for the bar.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok. Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, and Quill?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do not, under any circumstances, take your guns with you when you go to work. Leave them here. Or, better yet, bring them to the tower. We have a safe you can lock them in if you want. Consider it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter says he will, and Rhodey leaves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Like I’m going to leave my element guns in some sort of Earth safe. Ridiculous. They’re safest with me.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter grabs his headphones and lets his mind drift aimlessly as he picks up the apartment, trying not to focus on the meaning behind Rhodey’s words, or how they made him feel. If Daredevil doesn’t waste time, what does it mean that he’s hanging out with Peter? And why had it bothered him so much when Rhodey had called D an asshole. For all he knew, D was an asshole. Peter certainly was one, and would admit to it if he were called out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s got the pizza boxes and beer bottles picked up and thrown away when he thinks to text D.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Peter: </b>
  <em>
    <span>Can’t hang out tonight after all. Sorry</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s over two hours later when he gets a reply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Double D: </b>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, so you got what you were after and now you don’t need me around anymore, is that it? ;)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Peter: </b>
  <em>
    <span>You got me!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Peter: </b>
  <em>
    <span>Actually, I got a job bartending. Start tonight at 7</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Peter: </b>
  <em>
    <span>What time do bars close at?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s another delay, which Peter fills by working out. He’s gotta find something else to do if he’s going to be on Earth for an extended period of time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Double D: </b>
  <em>
    <span>Congrats! And bars close at 4 am</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Peter: </b>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck?? Oh man, that’s a late night. Good thing I slept in today. I was tired</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Double D: </b>
  <em>
    <span>Somebody wear you out last night or something?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter grins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Peter: </b>
  <em>
    <span>Just this guy I met. He’s very mysterious. You wouldn’t know him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s another break in the conversation - three hours this time - and Peter is really starting to panic and think he’s said something wrong when the reply comes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Double D: </b>
  <em>
    <span>Sounds like trouble. Maybe you should let him know where you’ll be working. He could walk you home.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Double D: </b>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry it took so long to reply. I’m at work.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something about that catches Peter right in the chest. D is at work… like, real work - not vigilante work - where he can’t be on his phone. Which means the man probably has a standard 9 to 5 job somewhere. Peter thinks about the way D had looked when he’d climbed in through the window the night before: ass hugging grey jeans, a white t-shirt and button down, and red All-Stars. A casual office? Maybe he worked in IT or something. Maybe he was a high school teacher… Peter considered, before shrugging the last one off. Nothing academic. He had hardly finished high-school himself; he didn’t want D to think he was stupid or something. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still. He can count the things he knows about this guy on one hand: He grew up in a Catholic orphanage; he has three friends named Danny, Luke, and Colleen; he practically never leaves New York; and he has a normal job. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Peter: </b>
  <em>
    <span>The Bar With No Name</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>393 Lewis Ave, Brooklyn</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Peter: </b>
  <em>
    <span>Also the joint might be owned by a supervillain so if you do stop by maybe meet me a block away.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Double D: </b>
  <em>
    <span>Got it. Alright gotta run. I won’t be available again until after 7, so have a great first day at work and I’ll catch up with you soon.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter stares at the final text. It’s so normal. So domestic. And maybe… just maybe…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes his head, reminding himself to stick to the plan. He’s here for a few months, tops. Just until things calm down. He’s got an apartment, a job, and a cute guy to waste his free time with. Nothing more. It’s a good plan.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was a terrible plan!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey asshole!” Peter shouts at a giant of a man dressed in all red, with a red dome over his head. He’s usually good at names, but he’s forgotten this guy’s already. Something about a jug. “Why don’t you pick on somebody your own size?!?”</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The man turns and starts to lumber towards him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? No, you fucking idiot!” Peter dodges one of the man’s huge fists as it slams into the pavement. “Not me! Do I look like I’m your size? I’m like a quarter of your size. Fight that guy over there!” He points at a man with shining, silver skin and a flat head, then ducks behind a dumpster. Red guy mumbles something inarticulate and then lumbers off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you!” Peter spins around. A man with a scarred face is sneaking up behind him, knife in hand, and Peter grabs his wrist and twists until he drops it. “I thought we were friends, Bobby!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Billy!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“WHATEVER!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We could never be friends!” Billy shouts, lashing out with his free hand and managing to tear Peter’s shirt. “You think you’re prettier than I am!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s because I am prettier than you are!” Peter shouts back, kicking Billy’s feet out from under him and dropping him to the ground. “Everyone is prettier than you man. Have you looked in the mirror lately? Jesus!” He tries to step over Billy, but brings his foot down on the man’s shoulder when he grabs at his ankle. Peter can hear the bones crunch under his boot and he cringes. “Sorry about that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy curses and spits blood, but doesn’t try to stand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright you three. Break it up.” Peter saunters over to three men who are engaged in a scuffle. One is wearing a suit of green, gold, and red, with a gold helmet on his head; the second is wearing a red and gold quilted get-up; and the third has an honest to god magic-eight-ball on his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Earth villains are fucking weird. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wedges his shoulder between the three of them, prying them apart and catching an elbow to his jaw for his trouble. “Give me a break, Melter,” he groans at the man in the gold helmet, rubbing his chin. “I’m just trying to do my job here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, Pete,” Melter mumbles, looking embarrassed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I get it,” Peter grunts, prying the other two men off of each other. “You guys deal with a lot. You need to blow off some steam. But you gotta keep it inside the bar or the neighbors are going to call the…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sirens blare from a few blocks away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“COPS!!!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Several of the villains scatter, but more pull out weapons and Peter can’t help but roll his eyes at the dudes in capes and women in tight spandex and all their oversized guns and swords. “Come on, guys!” He shouts. “Do we really need to do this? Keep it up and somebody’s gonna call Spider-Man or Daredevil on your asses, and nobody wants that amiright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, maybe somebody wants it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he can’t help but think to himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes a boot to the chest from a woman wearing a catsuit of black and white concentric circles. It knocks him backwards onto the pavement. “FUCK YOU TOO, MAKI!!” he yells after her retreating form, and she flips him the bird over her shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The good news is he manages to get everyone to put away their ridiculous weapons, and almost everyone to disperse before the cops show up. The bad news is the only people left are Melter, Shocker, and 8-Ball, and honestly, with the way they’re groping at each other, Peter isn’t sure if they’re trying to fight or fuck. He pulls out one of his element guns, just to get their attention. It works and the three men separate, hands raised in the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, that’s exactly the moment the cops arrive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which is how Peter Quill finds himself first in the back of a police car, and shortly after in an interrogation room in the 77th precinct police station. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told you,” he shouts at the two inept detectives. “I wasn’t attacking anyone. I’m Star Lord. I’m a Guardian of the Galaxy and I was breaking up that fight not causing it!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s a Guardian of the Galaxy?” One of the detectives asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s a Star Lord?” The other asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know Iron Fist?” The first asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re obsessed with Iron Fist,” the second says to the first before turning back to Quill. “You were pointing a gun at those guys.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not a gun,” Peter says with a sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it, then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well… ok, it’s a gun but it’s not a gun like you’re thinking. It’s an element gun. It can fire like water and fire and…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So it’s a flame thrower?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? No, it’s not a…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have a permit?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter stares at him. “Why would I have a permit?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re required to have a permit to carry a side-arm in New York to prove that you understand gun safety and for identification purposes. Do you have a license?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A what? What for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if somebody stole one? Or both?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t let them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two detectives glare at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok. If somebody stole one, they wouldn’t be able to use it. They only work for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like some kind of trigger lock?” The first detective asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sort of?” Peter really wants to scratch his forehead but his arms are handcuffed to the table. “They only work for members of the royal Spartex bloodline.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The second detective’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m sorry. The what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you saying you’re royalty?” The first asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I am.” Peter leans back in his chair and tries to cross his arms across his chest. The chain jerks and they slam back against the table. “I’m the crown prince of Spartax. Or, at least I wa…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door slams open. “Peter Quill I would strongly advise that you stop speaking immediately.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All three sets of eyes turn towards him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who are you?” One of the detectives asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who the fuck are you?” Peter asked at the same time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My name is Matt Murdock, and I’m this man’s lawyer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t have a la…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please, Mr. Quill,” the lawyer said softly, cutting him off. “Let me take care of things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“D?” The question slips out of his mouth before he has time to think about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>D… Matt… turns and glares at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except… Except he doesn’t. Because he’s blind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daredevil is blind.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CUE DRAMATIC MUSIC!!!!</p>
<p>Also, today's chapter is the first chapter to be inspired by art created by the amazing <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/murdockquills">Murdockquills</a> for whom this was written. May I present Peter, in all his glorious himbo goodness:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>[Image Description: Peter Quill, playing with his hair with one hand and holding a walkman in the other. Old-school headphones are around his neck. He's wearing a white, cropped t-shirt that says "Rebel Rebel," extra short red gym shorts, knee-high soccer style tube-socks, and white All-Star high-tops.]</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. In Need of Some Restraint</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em><span>Just as every cop is a criminal</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>And all the sinners saints</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>As heads is tails</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>Just call me Lucifer</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>'Cause I'm in need of some restraint</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>So if you meet me</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>Have some courtesy</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>Have some sympathy, and some taste</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>Use all your well-learned politesse</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>Or I'll lay your soul to waste</span></em><em></em><span><br/></span> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/1Ud6moTC0KyXMq1Oxfien0?si=JLzQTaXqQ7i45B9sK78Rag"><span>Sympathy for the Devil: The Rolling Stones</span></a></p><p>
  <span>“We’ll need a moment alone. Lawyer client privilege.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two detectives grumble, but leave the room. As soon as they’re gone Peter starts to talk, but the lawyer… Matt… Daredevil... holds a hand out to silence him. For reasons he doesn’t fully understand, he listens, taking a minute to really look at the man in front of him. It’s D. There’s no question about that. The same cut of his jaw, the same tilt of his head, the same hands… Jesus, those hands. The way he carries himself. The width of his shoulders. He wants to reach out and touch him, to make sure he’s really there, but he doesn’t - D’s hand seemingly holding him in place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Matt lowers his hand and Peter’s restraint seems to go with it. Suddenly he’s furious. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who do you think you are? What gives you the right to just barge in here like this? I didn’t ask to be saved, again! Why did you hide all this from me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t say any of this. What he says, instead, is: “you’re blind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the wrong thing to say. Something in D’s jaw twitches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can discuss that later. Right now, I need to know exactly what happened.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing happened, D.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t call me that. My name is Matthew Murdock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that hurts. Peter has had thoughts, ok? Fantasies about this moment and how it should go. D would appear in his apartment again, looking like he did last night, windswept and rumpled like something off the cover of a tawdry romance novel. He’d fall into Peter’s arms, look up at him, lick his lips in that way he does, then pull off his mask and tell Peter his real name. They would kiss. Pete would scoop him up into his arms and carry him back to the oversized bed that Pepper had insisted he needed, cover his skin with kisses, run fingers through his hair, prove that he was worthy of that knowledge. Of that trust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It should have been special. It should have been their moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, D is brandishing it as a weapon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter swallows hard. “Ok. Ummm… I was working. There was a fight. It bled out into the alley. I was trying to break it up, the cops came, they arrested me. That’s it. That’s everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You had a weapon drawn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hates how cold D’s voice is. “Yeah, but I was gonna shoot water. I was just trying to get them to separate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And your water guns…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Element guns.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe not a clarification you want to emphasize to the police.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter bites the inside of his cheek, unsure if he wants to punch something or cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And these guns,” D continues. “Nobody else can use them because…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you hear that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For now, let’s just say it’s enough that I did and move on. Nobody else can use them because…?” he prompts again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter huffs out a breath. “Because they can only be used by members of the Spartax royal bloodline. They won’t work for anyone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what does that mean, exactly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter pauses, unsure of what D is looking for. “I don’t understand…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you a king?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Uh, no. I’m a prince. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The </span>
  </em>
  <span>Prince, I suppose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of Spartax?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which is where?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Shi’ar Galaxy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that a question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Quill shakes his head, staring down at his hands. “I don’t understand what you want, D… Matthew. I’m not sure what you’re looking for. If you could just tell me what’s…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt tilts his head, then holds out his hand again to silence Peter. He’s about to complain when the door to the room swings open and the detectives step back in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt stands, turning to face the detectives. “This is highly irregular! Even opening that door while I’m having a protected conversation with my client means…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s free to go,” one of the detectives says, nodding at Peter, while the other unlocks his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Why?” Matt asks, and Peter kind of wants to slap him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have powerful friends, Mr. Murdock” the second detective replies. “Although I’m sure they wouldn’t use the word <em>friends</em>. Both Detective Mahoney of the 15th and Detective Knight of the 29th called and told us we’d be better off just releasing the guy versus dealing with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter bites back a laugh and Matt jerks his head in his direction, mouth tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And my client’s property?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ll be returned on the way out. Ballistics tested them; best they can tell, they’re props.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He could press charges for being detained.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t, though,” Peter says, friendly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is not waiving his right to do so,” Matt growls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, whatever.” The detectives wave Matt off and open the door. “We may need him for questioning, so be sure to advise your </span>
  <em>
    <span>client </span>
  </em>
  <span>not to leave the city.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt nods curtly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m right here,” Peter inserts. “I can hear you just fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please keep your mouth shut, Mr. Quill,” Matt says under his breath.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter clamps his mouth closed and balls his hands into fists. He doesn’t speak as he signs the forms to retrieve his element guns. He doesn’t speak as they leave the building and the woman at the front desk tells them to have a good day. He doesn’t speak as they walk away from the station, the sun already rising above the horizon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You tore your shirt,” Matt finally says, breaking the silence once they’re several blocks away from the station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How would you even know that? What is your deal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt doesn’t stop walking, but Peter can see his jaw clench. The tap of his cane on the sidewalk in front of him is infuriating. Peter wants to tear it out of his hands and throw it into the street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do we need to do this here?” Matt asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where would you rather do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Somewhere private. Your apartment?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gonna put your mask on first?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt does stop walking at that, turning to face Peter. “What the fuck, Peter? Why are you mad at me? I just saved your ass in there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My ass didn’t need saving!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, actually, it did.” Matt bites off the words sharply. “You were holding three men at gunpoint with unregistered weapons that you claim can shoot fire. You have no identification and no evidence of who you claim to be. I don’t know what the rules are in the rest of the galaxy, but those are all problems in New York City.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But they were criminals, D. Bad guys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do not call me that. When I am dressed like this, my name is Matthew Murdock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice is so low and so gravely, and for just a second Peter thinks the man might hit him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If they were convicted criminals,” Matt continues, voice returning to normal, “then they would be in prison. Did they commit a felony in front of you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. They were fighting, so I broke up the fight…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A citizen’s arrest is only legal when the citizen in question has seen the person commit a felony and is willing to testify…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t trying to do a citizen’s arrest. I was just trying to break up a fight. D… Matthew,” he corrects himself as Matt takes a step towards him. He throws his hands up in the air. “I didn’t do anything, and I didn’t need a lawyer. You’re treating me like I’m an idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s because you’re acting like you’re an idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter shakes his head and takes a few steps backwards. “You know what, go to hell. I don’t need this. Rhodey warned me, you know. He warned me about you. Said you had a “holier than thou” attitude. I should have listened. See you around, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Matthew</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He calls the last sentence out over his shoulder, as he turns and walks away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next five weeks pass slowly but uneventfully. Peter picks up more shifts at the bar, gets a gym membership, makes friends with the dude at the bodega, discovers Netflix. He watches a lot of movies, and even more TV shows. Dan Levy is a genius, the new Star Wars movies are an abomination, Will and Hannibal were obviously in love. He makes sort of friends with Clint Barton. The man is jittery and weird and drinks too much coffee, but overall he seems like good people. Peter spends the nights he doesn’t work lying on the roof of the apartment building staring up at what stars can be seen through the light polution, thinking about the people and places he left behind, and what they’re doing without him. He’d failed on Spartex and pushed the rest of the Guardians away in the process. Hell, he’d lied to them more times than he could count. They were right for making him leave, and they’d definitely agree with D that he was an idiot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries not to remember what it felt like to have D resting his head on his chest, staring up at the stars with him. Only, he supposes D was never looking at the stars. That was a lie, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s wallowing pretty deeply in the self pity… and also the whiskey... the day that the green haired woman shows up. He doesn’t hear her arrive - is pretty sure she just materialized on the roof - so it definitely isn’t his fault that he startles and spills his drink when she clears her throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Classy.” She gives him an assessing once over, and very clearly finds him lacking. “Get your shit together, Mr. Quill. It’s not even noon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lieutenant Commander Abigail Brand of Alpha Flight. And as much as it pains me to say it, we need your help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter blinks at her. “Ok… Can I get you a drink?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She crosses her arms reprovingly in front of her chest. “Under no circumstances. Mr. Quill, you were hired to steal the Black Vortex from Kymellia III, is that correct?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean… yes, but I didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Explain what happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok…” He takes a sip of his whiskey, then sits the glass down on a small table the residents of the building sometimes use for barbecues and things like that. “Like you said, I was hired by a chick named Delphinia to steal the Black Vortex. I was halfway to Kymellia when I found out what the Black Vortex was and that Delphina was working for my old man so I turned around and came here instead. I’m not going to help him with something like that. Honestly, I think it shows real growth that I even looked into it, considering how much Dephinia was offering to pay me to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you didn’t think to report it?” Brand cuts him off with a roll of her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To who? And why? Like I said, I didn’t steal the thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you never considered the chance that, after you turned her down, Delphinia - and J’Son through her - might just hire somebody else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well.” Peter shrugs his shoulders and shoots Brand his most charming smile. “I mean really, who else was she going to ask?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brand lets out a long, put upon sigh. “Mr. Quill, not only are you not the greatest thief in the galaxy, you’re not even the greatest thief on this backwater planet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ouch.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, so pops hired somebody else. What do you need from me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need you to stop them, Mr. Quill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, so you need me to stop them? I’m not the greatest thief but I am the greatest thief stopper?” He knows it was a stupid thing to say. She doesn’t need to give him that look… “Why can’t you just stop this master thief yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, we could,” Brand answers, sounding bored. “But out of respect, we thought we’d give you the chance to do it first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why? Who… Who did Delphinia hire?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Guardians of the Galaxy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter sits down on the roof, hard. “And you want me to stop them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re hopeful, yes. They seem to have been misled on the true nature of their assignment. We’ve had agents and allies attempt to intercept them, and all have agreed that the only way they can be stopped at this point is through their destruction. I thought you might wish to help avoid that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Peter says meekly. “Yeah, I would wish to help avoid that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent. They’re traveling towards Knowhere now. You should have at least one week before they move forward with their plans.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But… but…” Peter gestures up at her from his seat on the roof. “I left Thor in charge. Thor would never…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Asgardian is no longer with them. It is unclear where he has gone. Rocket is in charge of the Guardians now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck!” Peter buries his face in his hands. “Alright. I’ll do it. How can I contact you if I need something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do not contact me, ever.” She glares at him, then pulls something out of her bag, presses a few buttons, and disappears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that was fucking bracing,” Peter says to his drink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dude. You need to give me my ship back!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhodey crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Yeah. I can’t do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s mine!” Peter definitely does not whine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I let you keep your guns, and look at how you repaid me. You were here less than a week before you got arrested for using them in a bar fight! Did you know that the district attorney reached out to me about that? He wanted to know why I hadn’t reported that you were here and what kind of safeguards I was putting in place to make sure you didn’t start any more fights?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t start…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter!” Rhodey interrupts him. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but enhanced people aren’t the most popular right now. We don’t need somebody running around claiming that he has magic water guns because he’s a king from outer space.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhodey holds out a hand, silencing him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, but how did the District Attorney even find out?” Peter asks. “I wasn’t charged with anything. There was no record…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apparently your lawyer is a pain in his ass. Said the guy has a hard on for enhanced people or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter opens his mouth, then quickly shuts it again. “Wouldn’t you rather just see me gone, then?” He asks quietly. “Just give me my ship. I’ll leave and I won’t come back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhodey considers that for a moment. “It’s not up to me anymore, but I’ll discuss that with Cap and Commander Rogers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how long will that take?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, they’re on a blackout mission right now, so probably a week or two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A week!” Peter shouts. “I don’t have a week!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well you don’t have a choice, either. Maybe you should have thought about it before you started a fight in some back alley.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter bites back a retort. He knows when an argument is lost and, while he’s certainly not giving up, getting Rhodey out of his hair is the first step to moving on to plan B, whatever that might be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He agrees mindlessly, not even bothering to listen to what Rhodey says next, just focusing on ushering the man out the door. A half developed plan begins to form in his brain, and he’s not sure of much but the one thing he is sure of is this: he’s not going to be able to do it alone. He needs help. Which really sucks ass because apparently the thing he is best at is pushing people away. Still. It needs to be done and nobody’s getting any younger, so he’d better get a move on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He puts on a sweater against the chill, throws on his coat along with a hat and some gloves, grabs his bag, and heads out to the nearest subway station. Once he’s on the train, he shoves his earbuds into his ears. Something with a driving beat, to chase the thoughts out of his head. He can’t stop to think; if he does, he’ll probably just chicken out and he can’t do that. People are counting on him. The Guardians… his friends are counting on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He practically vaults off the train when it slides to a stop at the Hell’s Kitchen station, darting through the doors before they’re even fully open. Once he’s up on the streets, he breaks into a run, debating for a second where he should go. To the docks? Or to the rooftop where they’d shared their dates what seems like a lifetime ago? The docks seem like a safer bet - a place D is more likely to be out patrolling versus a residential area - but they’re further away and FUCK it’s cold. Snowflakes are swirling in the air around him, and he’s not dressed warm enough for all this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t slow when he reaches the building, but activates his helmet against the cold air that whips against his face as he rockets up to the rooftop. Once there, he doesn’t hesitate like he did the first time, instead retracting the helmet and calling out: “Daredevil!! Daredevil!!! HEY MATTHEW COME ON!!!!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rubs his hands together and stops his feet. He grew up in Missouri for fuck’s sake, and he doesn’t remember November being this cold. He’s opening his mouth to shout again when he hears the voice behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want, Peter?”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to everyone for the amazing comments on the last chapter. i appreciate all of you so much!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. As Though Nothing Could Fall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em><span>I, I can remember</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>Standing, standing by the wall</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>And the guns, shot above our heads</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>And we kissed, as though nothing could fall</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>And the shame, the shame was on the other side</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>Oh we can beat them, for ever and ever</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>And we could be Heroes, just for one day</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/2Os83Fjr9ixsIRLMiaGCnj?si=BDYSM140Qr2ea1m5jVbugA"><span>Heroes: Peter Gabriel</span></a></p>
<p>He hears Peter the moment the man gets out of the station. He’s frantic about something, heart pounding as he runs through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. Matt wants to hope that he’s headed somewhere else - anywhere else. He momentarily entertains the idea that Peter might have a new lover who just happens to live near by, like Hell’s Kitchen is the man’s personal fishing ground, and he’s surprised to realize that he’d rather listen to the two of them do whatever they were going to do, versus being forced to hear - again - the disappointment in Peter’s voice at being face to face with Matt Murdock. </p>
<p>He should be so lucky.</p>
<p>Within minutes, Peter is blasting to Matt’s roof - activating that thing behind his ear this time and... <em> wow... </em> it’s some sort of technology that expands out to cover his face, then shrinks back down to nothing again. It’s impressive, and Matt finds himself itching to get his fingers on it before remembering that Peter Quill definitely does not want Matt Murdock putting his fingers on any part of him. Once on the roof, Peter is yelling for Daredevil, of course. It’s Daredevil who he wants but then… Then he says Matt’s name and that’s worse, because he’s loud and somebody might hear. </p>
<p>Matt grabs the blanket off the back of his couch and wraps it around himself, rushing up the stairs, through the door, and into the snow.</p>
<p>“What do you want, Peter?”</p>
<p>Peter is cold. He’s stomping his feet and rubbing his hands together, and he turns with a startled jerk at the sound of Matt’s voice, as if he were surprised that Matt came. </p>
<p>“Where did you come from?”</p>
<p>“Inside,” Matt says with a nod of his head towards the door, and he listens as Peter blows on his hands again. He sighs, already hating himself. “Do you want to come in? I can make you a cup of tea.”</p>
<p>Peter just stares at Matt, and Matt wants to shut the door and leave him. The snow is coming down heavier now - it’s the reason why he’s home and not out patrolling like he’d like to be - and it’s messing with his senses. He can’t read Peter the way he’d like and it’s throwing him off his game. He doesn’t understand what the delay means. He hates it.</p>
<p>“Make me… tea? I mean… sure. Yeah. Let’s go inside. You’re not even wearing shoes, Matthew.”</p>
<p>Something in the name grates sharply on Matt’s nerves, and he turns sharply, walking through the door and into his apartment. “Shut the door behind you,” he says, then listens to be sure he hears the clicks of both the latch and the deadbolt as he moves down the stairs and towards the kitchen.</p>
<p>“What kind of tea?”</p>
<p>“What?” Quill is clearly distracted.</p>
<p>“What kind of tea would you like? To help you warm up?”</p>
<p>“Oh… Uh… whatever you think.”</p>
<p>Matt takes a moment to assess Peter again, then runs his hands over the tea collection on his counter until he finds the peppermint. Now that they’re out of the snow, Matt can get a better read on him. Peter is anxious, stressed, and exhausted; hopefully the peppermint can do something for his nerves. Matt fills the kettle and starts it boiling, then pulls down two mugs and puts a single tea bag in each. </p>
<p>“Would you like to have a seat?” he asks, gesturing to the couch. </p>
<p>“Ummm… sure.” Peter sits awkwardly, and the silence stretches between them for a few minutes before he speaks again. “It’s dark. Could we…”</p>
<p><em> Right. Of course. </em>Matt shakes his head, feeling like an idiot, then walks to the switch and flips on the light, wincing slightly at the high-pitched buzzing noise that accompanies it. “Sorry, I forget sometimes.”</p>
<p>“Sure… Yeah, of course that makes sense. Is this your apartment?” He rushes through the last sentence as if afraid he won’t be able to get all the words out.</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Peter laughs, short and abrupt. “All that time, we were having dinner on your roof? That’s not…”</p>
<p>Matt turns his back to Peter, walking back into the kitchen. “That’s not what, Peter?”</p>
<p>“Well it’s not very sneaky. If you were trying to hide…”</p>
<p>“Why are you here?” The words come out harsher than he had intended them to and he can feel Peter sink into himself. He stays like that for a moment, hunched in and almost small, before he takes a deep breath and sits up straight again.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry.” </p>
<p>Which definitely wasn’t what Matt was expecting.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry for what happened and I’m sorry for what I said and I’m sorry that I’m bothering you now. But I am, and I need your help.”</p>
<p>Matt feels the water in the kettle reach the right temperature, and he takes it off the heat and begins to fill the mugs. “Sugar?”</p>
<p>“What?” The question is almost hopeful.</p>
<p>“Do you want sugar in your tea?” He clarifies.</p>
<p>“Oh.” Peter’s shoulders slump slightly. “Yes, please. Thanks.”</p>
<p>Matt scoops sugar into Peter’s cup and stirs it until he can’t feel the granules smacking against the spoon, then he carries the mugs over to where Peter is sitting, handing one to him and taking his own to the chair across from the couch where he takes a seat. “What can I do for you?”</p>
<p>“It’s a lot,” Peter says, clutching tightly to his mug. “Some bad things are about to happen if I can’t stop them.”</p>
<p>“Why don’t you start at the beginning.”</p>
<p>“Ok. So there’s this thing… this thing called the Black Vortex. It’s… I don’t even know what it is. Not really. It’s destruction. Turns the user into a cosmic entity, but at the cost of your soul. My father… he’s after it. It’s bad. He tried to get me to steal it for him. I didn’t realize what it was and I didn’t know it was for him and once I figured all that out I took off. I came here and I hid, which was pathetic and I recognize that, but he’s gotten my friends on board now - they must not realize who they’re working for or they wouldn’t do it… unless he’s paying them just a ton of credits… and if he gets it he’s going to be unstoppable and he will destroy everything. And Alpha Flight… that’s sort of a galactic police force. Anyway, if I can’t stop the Guardians, then they will, and they’re not going to be nice about it. I need my ship and War Machine won’t let me take it and I need you to help me steal it so I can stop this.”</p>
<p>Matt takes a sip of his tea, trying to process. </p>
<p>“Ok,” he says after a moment’s pause. “I didn’t understand any of that but…” he holds up a hand to stop Peter from starting to explain again. “It doesn’t matter. Things are bad. You need your ship. I’ll help you.”</p>
<p>“You will?”</p>
<p>“I will.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“Because it’s important,” Matt says without hesitation. “You know it’s important, and you’re not lying to me.” He takes another sip of tea, thinking. “Here’s the thing, though. I’m not sure how much help I can be. Sure, I can be quiet, but I’m not a thief.”</p>
<p>“I get it,” Peter says, disappointment thick in his voice as he rises from his seat. “I shouldn’t have put this on you, not after everything.”  </p>
<p>“Sit back down, Peter. I didn’t say I wouldn’t help.” Matt shakes his head. “I’m just saying… I’m not sure we can do it alone. I know a guy. A friend. I think he can help us and, as luck may have it, he’s in New York for the week at a conference.” </p>
<p>“Super heros have conferences?”</p>
<p>Matt laughs, and it makes Peter’s heartbeat do a funny skip. “A tech conference, actually. He’s an electrical engineer. But he does also happen to be an Avenger.”</p>
<p>“Oh…” There’s something in Peter’s voice. A question.</p>
<p>“What?” </p>
<p>“It’s nothing. I just…”</p>
<p>“It’s something,” Matt says with a smile. “Out with it.”</p>
<p>Peter smiles back, and for a moment Matt feels warmth that he knows isn’t coming from the tea. He pushes it down. <em> Peter Quill isn’t interested in Matt Murdock. </em> </p>
<p>“Rhodey told me Daredevil didn’t have any friends.” </p>
<p>Matt shrugs. “I mean, Rhodey’s probably right. I told you, I don’t generally do well in a team. But this guy isn’t Daredevil’s friend. He’s Matt’s.” </p>
<p>“He knows who you are?” And Matt tries not to read into the hints of jealousy he hears in Peter’s voice.</p>
<p>“He doesn’t, actually. He only knows me as Matt Murdock. But he also knows a lot of potential repeat offenders and I’m a really good defense attorney. Plus, he pulled off one of the best burglaries I’ve ever heard of. I’m confident he can help us.”</p>
<p>“And you think he will?” Quill sounds disbelieving.</p>
<p>“I think he can probably be convinced…”</p>
<p>Matt doesn’t waste any time. He’s on the phone almost immediately, and within minutes Scott is on his way over. Matt orders food while they’re waiting, the good Chinese delivery this time, and it’s part that he’s hungry and part that he needs something to do with his hands while Quill is just sitting there. Quill’s anxiety is overwhelming, drowning out basically everything else about him, and Matt’s normal easy read on him seems to have evaporated along with their fledgling relationship. When Scott does finally arrive, Matt is almost as stressed as Peter is. </p>
<p>“Hey man,” Scott says when Matt opens the door, pulling him into a tight hug. “What kind of weather is this, am I right? I’m ready to head back home for sure!”</p>
<p>“It’s awful,” Matt agrees. “Scott, there’s somebody I need you to…”</p>
<p>“Quill?”</p>
<p>“Hey,” Peter says sheepishly, standing up from the couch and running his hand through his hair. “Shoulda’ realized he was calling you.</p>
<p>“You two know each other?” Matt asks, surprised. </p>
<p>“Yeah, man,” Scott answers, turning back towards Matt with a confused expression. “We fought together. But how do you guys…?”</p>
<p>“It’s a long story,” Quill starts to explain, before Matt interrupts him.</p>
<p>“I’m Daredevil,” he says simply, and Scott blinks at him. </p>
<p>“For real?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“Huh. That’s crazy! Hey, didn’t you faint that one time? What was up with that?”</p>
<p>Matt smiles. “I didn’t faint; I just didn’t expect you to get so small so quickly.”</p>
<p>“Oh you totally fainted. It was cute. Thanks for telling me, by the way. That’s really awesome that you trust me. Does everybody else know?”</p>
<p>“Uh… no.” Matt scratches at the back of his head. “Just you and Peter, and Rogers. I’d kind of like to keep it that way, if you don’t mind.”</p>
<p>“Of course, man. Say no more! And thanks, really. I’m honored! So what’s up? What’s happening? What’s the dealio?” </p>
<p>Peter explained again while Scott listened carefully. </p>
<p>“So you want to steal your spaceship back?” he clarified, once Peter was done.</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“Where’ve they got it?”</p>
<p>“Some place upstate?”</p>
<p>Scott smiled. “Oh yeah, I know that place. No problem. I’ve broken in there and stolen stuff loads of times. Well… once, but who’s counting. Then what?”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” Peter asked.</p>
<p>“Well what happens after I steal the spaceship back?”</p>
<p>“Listen these are your friends. I get if you don’t want to help, just please… I have to…”</p>
<p>“No, you misunderstand. I’m definitely in.” Scott pops a dumpling into his mouth, then talks around it. “I’ve got a bone to pick with the whole team. Did you know they formed an entire West Coast Avengers and didn’t even invite me?? I’ve lived in San Francisco my entire life, but no. Apparently I’m not good enough, despite totally, and single handed-ly, coming up with the idea that stopped Thanos. Instead they call in Hawkeye to oversee the operation, even though he already splits his time between here and Missouri, neither of which are on the West Coast I might add. So he just commutes in every now and then, and when he’s not there they’re without guidance. Plus there’s another, different Hawkeye who’s also on the team. That’s confusing and also just plain rude! So they can all kiss my butt.” Scott eats another dumpling and chews in silence this time. “Except Commander Rogers,” he says after he swallows. “He’s cool. Even as an old man, he can still get it. Is he going to be there?”</p>
<p>“No.” Matt and Peter answer in unison.</p>
<p>“That’s probably for the best. He’s pretty distracting. Emphasis on pretty if you know what I mean.” He winks at Peter. “So then what happens? I get the spaceship out, then what?”</p>
<p>“<em> We </em>get the spaceship and then I go to Knowhere and stop my friends.”</p>
<p>“By yourself?” Scott asks.</p>
<p>“Well… Yeah.”</p>
<p>“That’s dumb. We’ll go with.” Peter gestures between himself and Matt.</p>
<p>“What? No,” Peter objects. </p>
<p>“I’m not sure if that’s a good…” Matt starts to say, but Scott cuts him off. </p>
<p>“I’ve met the Guardians of the Galaxy. There’s this blue lady… she’s super scary and seems really mean. Then a that crazy racoon, and a weird ass tree. If this comes down to a fight…”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to fight them,” Peter tries to explain.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I get it.” Scott is suddenly very serious. “I don’t want to fight anyone ever, but sometimes it happens.” </p>
<p>“How many?” Matt asks.<br/><br/>“How many what?”</p>
<p>“How many people would you be going up against?”</p>
<p>Peter thinks for a minute, then replies. “Seven. But they’re not going to fight me. It’ll all work out.”</p>
<p>“That’s the first time you’ve lied tonight,” Matt says quietly, after a long pause.</p>
<p>“Excuse me?” And just like that, Matt can read Peter again just fine. The bluster. The bravado. The hiding.</p>
<p>“You lied. When you said it would all work out, you don’t believe that.”</p>
<p>“How could you possibly know…”</p>
<p>“Yeah, how do you know stuff, man?” Scott asks. “I always wanted to ask Daredevil that, but he’s… <em> you’re </em> so crotchety. Doesn’t seem like he’d be up for twenty-one questions. No offense.”</p>
<p>Matt smiles faintly. “None taken.”</p>
<p>“But really,” Scott continues. “Are you one of those psychic mutants or something?” </p>
<p>“Not psychic,” Matt answers, senses laser focused on Peter for any sign of response. “Not a mutant either. A mutate. I was blinded as a child in an accident. A chemical spill. It took my sight but enhanced everything else - taste, smell, hearing. When you lie… When anyone lies… When anyone has any sort of emotional response, their body reacts in a certain way. Some responses are easy. Most people’s heartbeat changes when they lie; that’s how a lie detector test works. I listen. The better I know someone, the easier I can read them.”</p>
<p>“Kinda seems like cheating…” Peter mutters.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I suppose it is,” Matt says, because what else is there to say.</p>
<p>“Cheating but super helpful,” Scott adds with a forced cheerfulness, eyes darting between the two of them. “I mean, you’re a great lawyer, Matty.”</p>
<p>“Thanks.” Matt forces a smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes. It doesn’t matter. They’re hidden behind his glasses anyway. He takes a deep breath, centering himself, then repeats “Seven people... Maybe we can find a way to even out those odds.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe the third time really is a charm. </p>
<p>Peter is sitting on Matt’s couch, explaining yet again about the Black Vortex, what it is, and why they need to be sure it doesn’t fall into his father’s hands. He doesn’t feel anxious anymore; he doesn’t feel anything. He can’t remember the last time he was this numb. Three of the four sets of eyes that stare back at him seem understanding, supportive, and appropriately concerned. </p>
<p>It’s the fourth set of eyes that is the problem.  </p>
<p>D had talked about his friends a bit - Colleen and Luke and Danny. Peter wasn’t surprised. He expected Luke to be a huge wall of a man. He expected Danny to be an entitled rich kid. He expected Colleen’s infectious positivity. But the fourth… D… Matt, he reminded himself yet again… Peter hadn’t expected her at all. She’d bristled in a few steps behind the other three, the collar of her leather coat turned up against the cold. She’d straight up sneered at Matt when he’d suggested she should have worn something warmer. </p>
<p>
  <em> “Don’t fucking try to mother me, Murdock.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I wouldn’t dare.” Matt scratched at his forehead, scrunching it under his fingertips. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> She shrugged like it was nothing, but Peter could tell that it wasn’t nothing. He could see it in the protected way she held herself, in the slight clench of her jaw.  “I suppose I was curious. Plus,” she grabbed a bottle of booze off of Matt’s counter as if it belonged to her, “I was out.” </em>
</p>
<p>“Alright, let me get this straight.” Luke’s voice snaps Peter out of the memory. “You want us to break into the Avengers compound and steal a spaceship, then fly said spaceship to a city inside a floating skull, where we will fight your team-mates, one of whom is a killer tree? Am I understanding that correctly?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, more or less,” Peter replies glumly. It does sound like a lot.</p>
<p>Luke looks at Danny. Danny looks at Colleen. Colleen looks at Jessica.</p>
<p>Jessica shrugs. “Why the hell not? It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.” She takes a pull directly from the bottle.</p>
<p>“I’m not breaking into the compound,” Luke clarifies. “Stealing things has never been my strong suit. I’m not… subtle.”</p>
<p>Matt smiles a real smile and… oh, shit, Peter had missed that. </p>
<p>“You shouldn’t need to.” Scott is leaning nonchalantly against Matt’s kitchen counter. “I’m gonna take care of that bit on my own. I’ve got a plan. I just need someone to come with and help create a distraction.”</p>
<p>“I can do it,” Matt offers immediately, because of course he does.</p>
<p>“No, I don’t think so Matty.” Scott moves towards him. “The thing is, people kind of know you. You’ve done enough high profile cases that you might get recognized. If somebody sees you involved and then sees Daredevil working with us, they might put two and two together. As long as you’re trying to protect your identity, which I totally appreciate and want to support, I think Matt Murdock needs to keep a low profile. Plus, I’m thinking I need somebody to get really hysterical. Cause a big commotion. What about you?” He points at Jessica.</p>
<p>“What about me?” She glares at him.</p>
<p>“Careful, man, she will punch you and it will hurt,” Danny warns. “She’s stronger than she looks.”</p>
<p>“Exactly. That’s what I’m going for.”</p>
<p>“You want me to punch you?”</p>
<p>“What? No.” Scott shakes his head, pauses, seems to consider the ramifications, and then shakes his head again. “No, I don’t want you to punch me. But we’re going to need a big distraction. Something that gets as many of them outside as possible. I was thinking you could drive there and then crash the car right outside…”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>The force of Jessica’s voice surprises Peter, as does the speed at which she is on her feet, moving away from the couch and towards the door of Matt’s apartment.</p>
<p>“Absolutely not. I’m not… I can’t… I need to go.” She’s out the door before Quill can even figure out what’s happening.</p>
<p>“Jessica!” Matt moves after her. “Jessica wait!” And then he’s gone too.</p>
<p>The room is silent for a minute. </p>
<p>“She lost her family in a car crash,” Luke says, finally breaking the silence. “The doctors saved her and her mom’s life, but only by experimenting on them. That’s how she got her powers. It turned her mother into a monster.”</p>
<p>Scott’s eyes grow wide. “I didn’t know… Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I had no idea…”</p>
<p>“It’s alright.” Colleen stands as she speaks, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You had no way to know. It’s not your fault. She’ll listen to Matt.”</p>
<p>“Will she?” Danny asks. “Even after everything?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Luke says softly. “Yeah, she will.” </p>
<p>And Peter is pretty sure he’s lost any chance he ever had.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don't actually have a good excuse as to why Scott is in this. I just... I just needed him, ok?</p>
<p>Let me know what you're thinking, please! Today is my kids' first day back to (online) school and I'm going to need all the positive vibes I can get!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Just Part of the Process?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>You need a big god</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Big enough to hold your love</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>You need a big god</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Big enough to fill you up</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p><em><span>Sometimes I think it's gettin' better</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>And then it gets much worse</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Is it just part of the process?</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Well, Jesus Christ, it hurts</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Though I know I should know better</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Well, I can make this work</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Is it just part of the process?</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Well, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, it hurts</span></em> <em><span><br/>
</span></em> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/1NcXkWB3UwXfMt8izByICb?si=0HKaAjgUTAqsdJhmuHMYXA"><span>Big God: Florence and the Machine</span></a></p>
<p>
  <span>The heist goes off without a hitch. ‘Car crash’ is downgraded to ‘blown out tire’ with Colleen at the wheel and Jessica in the passenger seat, and somebody should give Jessica an Oscar for how well she plays the damsel in distress. She starts out inconsolable, then quickly moves to flirty and charming, and fairly soon she’s all of the heavy hitters out there eating out of her hand. While the Avengers are busy giving Jess and Colleen a tour of the facilities, Scott sneaks in, shrinks the spaceship down and sneaks it out on the back of a winged ant, or so Peter has been told. The whole thing was impressive, even if Matt had paced the entire time talking about how he should have been the one to go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter spares a glance at Matt now, as they break through the atmosphere. The man has a white-knuckled grip on the armrest of his seat, and he hasn’t looked well since the Bowie powered up. Still, even thin lipped and pale faced as he is, the man is beautiful, and Peter wishes he didn’t want to look as much as he did. He didn’t plan it this way. He had only meant to ask for help getting the Bowie back, he’d never considered that Matt would come with him to Knowhere. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe, under different circumstances, he could have held out hope. He could have imagined this as a moment for them to reconcile, to fall back into each other. They’re stuck on a spaceship together, after all. There isn’t much else to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, of course, Peter’s luck is the same as it’s always been and, while he may have found a way to get Daredevil back into his life,  it’s with the added bonus of a woman that Matt obviously has some very serious history with - far more history than the two of them had achieved in a week of late night dinners and one passionate romp in the sheets.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In other words, Peter knows he hasn’t got a chance in hell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tries not to sigh as he turns his attention back to the transmission he’d received from his contact on Knowhere. Trying to control everything he feels so that Matt can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>sense </span>
  </em>
  <span>it is exhausting. He re-reads the message for the fourth time, then speaks: </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re going to have to hang out for a few days, before we can get on our way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Luke demands. “After all that? I thought you said we needed to move immediately.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We do,” Peter tries to explain. “Or, we did. I didn’t have any way to know until I got the ship. There’s a huge space storm at the location of our last jump, and if we try to go around it will just end up taking us longer. I’ll fly us a ways out, just so we know that the Avengers aren’t tracking us, but then we’ll have to wait.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How long,” Matt asks through gritted teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You never know with storms, but I’d guess about 38 hours, give or take. We’ve got rations to last more than twice that long.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is what it is,” Danny says with a smile. “The way I see it, it’s just extra time we get to enjoy space.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And that’s not going to cause a problem?” Luke asks. “You’ll still be able to stop your friends from getting the thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Peter says, reading the transmission again even though he basically has it memorized at this point. “My contact says that only Nebula, Rocket, Groot, and Phyla-Vell are there, which means they’re still waiting on Noh-Var, Rich, and the Rider to show up, and they’re going to be stuck behind the same storm we are.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You got any booze on this ship?” Jessica asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Colleen turns to glare at her. “We should try to sleep. It’s been a long day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which was true. It had been about 24 hours since Brand showed up on his rooftop, and Peter hadn’t stopped to rest the entire time since then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where do we sleep on this thing?” Luke asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quill hadn’t considered that. “There are five crew quarters,” he answers, shaking his head. “Sorry, I hadn’t even thought about…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not a big deal,” Colleen responds with a smile. “Danny and I can bunk together, of course, which brings us down to six…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re all friends here,” Jessica interrupts, her voice saccharine sweet. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve got to monitor these jumps,” Peter says, gesturing behind himself in the direction of the bunks. “But you all should just take whatever works best for you. I’ll be fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stays focused on the screen in front of him, not wanting to think about who is going into which small room. There is movement behind him and then…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You need to rest too, Matt,” he hears Jessica call. Then, softer. “You ok? Do you need any help?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Matt answers softly. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter hears two sets of footsteps as they disappear deeper into the ship. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So that is that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He spends longer than is absolutely necessary making sure everything is set after they jump, checking and rechecking the readings just to be sure they are on a safe course and that nobody is following them. That autopilot is properly engaged. That the engines are running smoothly. Finally, when he has to admit even to himself that he’s being ridiculous, he turns and walks quietly out of the cockpit and down the corridor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter pauses briefly at the door to his own quarters, his hand resting over the latch. He doesn’t think anyone’s gone in there; there’s a brightly colored placard with his name on the door. Still… he opens the door slowly, silently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room is empty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course it is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He toes off his boots, climbs into bed fully clothed, and passes out immediately. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next morning he wakes with a start, confused for a moment about where he is and why he’s there. His bed feels lonely in a way that he’s never felt before in space. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The day is spent getting to know the team. He quickly realizes that working with the Defenders is going to be nothing like working with the Avengers or the Guardians. The Guardians were a family of misfits who chose each other when they had nothing else. They worked together because they wanted to work together. They argued, but they also had a lot of fun. The Avengers came together because of who they had decided to be. Each of them had made a choice… a decision to be something more, to take the power that was offered to them and to use it for a common good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Defenders… the Defenders were bound together by things that had been done to them, most of them without their consent. They were broken. They hadn’t asked for this, and it was clear they didn’t want it more often than not. Still, he could see why Matt was friends with them. They were funny, even if it was a dark humor. Colleen was positive and upbeat, and he watched with awe as she effortlessly defused several tense situations. Luke was kind, straightforward, and honest, and he seemed to take a special joy in keeping Danny on his toes. Danny was not quite as annoying as Matt had made him out to be, back in the days when Matt had talked about him on the roof of his apartment while he and Peter had shared meals and gentle touches. Sure, if he informed Peter one more time that he was the immortal Iron Fist he might get punched, but other than that he seemed like a cool kid. Even Jessica, who Peter really wanted to hate, had a sharp wit and a sharper tongue, and he couldn’t begrudge Matt or anyone liking her. He completely understood why Matt was friends with all of these people.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t as sure why they were all friends with Matt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt spent the day sitting apart from the rest, off to the side of the room, fists sometimes clenching and releasing. Occasionally, Scott or one of the Defenders would walk over to him, say a few words quietly, touch his arm, but he would just plaster on a tense smile and shrug them off.  He spoke very little, and when they shared communal meals he ate even less. Peter was worried enough about him that when, shortly after dinner, Jessica guided him away from the group and towards the crew quarters, Peter almost felt happy for them. If she could give Matt a moment of peace - a moment to get out of his own head and to move past whatever was eating at him...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, that happiness isn’t enough to keep him from tossing and turning all night, thinking about the two of them together. After three hours he gives up, gets out of bed, and decides to make sure the ship is running as smoothly as possible. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both jump when Peter turns a corner in the engine room and finds Matt curled up in a small ball under one of the thruster access ports - arguably one of the loudest spots in the ship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Matt manages, rubbing his head where he bumped it on the bulkhead. “It’s been a long time since someone was able to sneak up on me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Peter asks, sitting down next to them on the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Trying to sleep,” Matt admits. “The ship… it’s a lot. At least here it’s loud enough that I can’t hear anything else. It seems counterproductive but it helps, honestly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Peter says before he has time to think. “I assumed you were sleeping with Jessica.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a look on Matt’s face that Peter can’t place, and before he has time to think about it further it’s gone, replaced with the mostly neutral but slightly pained expression that Matt has been wearing the entire time he’s been on board. “I’m not,” is all he says in reply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you two are together, aren’t you?” Peter asks, because apparently he has absolutely no chill. “And tonight… she took you back to your… to her room, didn’t she?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt sighs, and for a second he looks so tired that Peter wonders how he’s still standing. “We were together, a long time ago, but we’re not anymore. She wanted to talk tonight, which is pretty rare for her. Mostly she wanted to make sure that I was going to be ok to fight when the moment came.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I told her I was. Being on the ship is challenging, but I can still do what needs to be done. I’m fine.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Matt…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I said I’m fine!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter sits for a moment in silence. Matt is clearly not fine. He has a tremor in his hand and his unfocused eyes are watering. “Ok,” he says softly. “You’re fine. Can I help you anyway?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because… because I want to?” He picks up Matt’s hand and holds it in his own, searching the confidence to finish his thought. “Because this is important and we need everyone in top form. Because you being stressed is stressing me out. Because I get that you’re mad at me, but I still care about you and I hate seeing you like this.” The last words are spoken too quickly and he regrets them almost the moment they’re gone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt is staring at him. “I’m not mad at you, Peter,” is what he finally decides to say. “I’m sorry you’re stuck being around me so much, when I know that isn’t what you wanted.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Isn’t what I… what do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright,” Matt says, pulling his hand out of Peter’s. “I get it. Most people like either Daredevil or Matt Murdock. I don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone who really likes both. It’s not fair to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter stares at him. “Matt, do you think I don’t like you? That I don’t want you here?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You told me to go to hell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… I was mad. I was mad, and I was scared, and I’m sorry. I made a mistake and I’ve regretted it since the moment I walked away from you. You’re a lawyer, Matt, and I barely got through high school. You’re a lawyer and a hero, and you saved me twice, and what am I supposed to offer in return for that? There’s nothing. I have nothing. I’m nothing. So I ran, and I’ve hated myself for it every day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt blinked at him. “So why didn’t you call?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter laughs. “Because I saw your face and the first words out of my mouth were to point out that you’re blind… as if you didn’t know that already. And I told you to go to hell, and then I said I’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>see </span>
  </em>
  <span>you around like some sort of ableist asshole. I figured you hated me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Matt leans his head on Peter’s shoulder and is silent for a long time. Peter just starts to think that maybe he’s fallen asleep, when Matt speaks again. “I don’t hate you Peter.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter wraps an arm around him. “I’m glad.” He pauses, part of him just wanting to stay in this moment forever, but another knowing that is the wrong choice. In the end, the better part of him wins out. “I think... maybe... I can help with the sound.”</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter is assessing him, and Matt isn’t sure what he’s looking at. He’s so tired. Between the noises of the ship, the vibration of the engines, and the constant push of the pressurized air, he’s not sure how much more he can take.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You need to wear something warmer,” Peter says after a moment. “I have something, but I think it would be too rough. How warm is the Daredevil suit?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s made to regulate my body temperature, even in extremes. Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s perfect.” Peter doesn’t answer his question. “Let’s get it on you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter leaves him to grab the suit from Matt’s bag. He brings it back to the engine room, then turns away to give Matt his privacy. Matt slips out of his sweatpants and t-shirt and quickly pulls it on, trying not to think about how close Peter is… how warm he is. It’s all too much right now. He knows he won’t make good decisions. He goes to grab the cowl but Peter stops him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not that. Here, let me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter reaches up softly, and places the metal control for his helmet behind Matt’s ear. His fingers trace along Matt’s jawline, and it takes every ounce of willpower Matt has not to nuzzle into the touch. Then Peter presses a button, and Matt can feel the helmet slide over his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is instant relief. The helmet itself is blocking out more than half of the sounds around him, and Matt takes a deep, shaking breath. “Peter,” he gasps out, bringing his hands up to hold onto the man’s biceps. “This is amazing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter smiles and strokes a thumb along the top of Matt’s forehead, where it’s exposed above the face-mask. “This isn’t even half of it. Come on.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He takes Matt by the hand and leads him to what Matt has come to recognize as a hatch. “You won’t need this, but it’s better to be safe,” he says, clipping a cord to one of the straps around Matt’s thigh. “The hull has a slight gravitational charge, so as long as the ship doesn’t move and you don’t try to push off, you’re not at risk of floating away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The hull…?” Matt starts to question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Heat from the ship is dissipated through the hull, plus the helmet helps to regulate your temperature, so you don’t need to worry about the cold either. You should be plenty toasty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter, what are you…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on,” he says, sticking something to himself and pressing a button. Suddenly, it’s as if he is enveloped in a cocoon of energy. “Just trust me, ok?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt nods, still disbelieving of what Peter seems to be suggesting. Peter presses a panel along the side of the hatch, and said hatch slides open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter moves first, stepping through the open hatch and onto the hull of the ship. Then he extends a hand to Matt, who takes it and follows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a strange feeling. Rationally he knows that he’s changed the rotation of his body, that he’s standing perpendicular to the way he was standing just a moment before, but it doesn’t feel any different. Down is where his feet are, even if that’s a totally different direction than it was five seconds ago. He can’t imagine what it must be like for someone who could see. “Do people get vertigo out here?” He asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Peter replies. “Most people do the first few times. Why? Are you feeling sick?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Matt replies quickly, not wanting to scare him. “No, I’m good. I was just curious.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Peter leads him a few feet away from the hatch, then encourages him to first sit, and then lie down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt takes a deep breath and then realizes… it’s silent. The only thing he can hear are the sounds of his own body and Peter’s next to him. There is nothing else. No noise from the ship or the people within it. Nothing. He finds Peter’s hand and grabs onto it tightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You alright, D?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt can’t help it. He reaches out his free hand and carefully runs it along Peter’s cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Peter asks with a smile.</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You haven’t called me that since the police station. I missed it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I missed you.” The words are barely a whisper, and if they were still inside the ship, Matt knows he might not have even heard them. “I’m going to let you rest, ok? But I’ll be monitoring you from just inside. If you need anything, all you have to do is talk and the helmet will know to broadcast it to me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah, ok.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter reaches out a hand like he wants to touch Matt, then stops himself and pulls back. “You rest. I’ve got you,” he says, as he steps back through the hatch and into the ship. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt wants to say something, to call after him, to ask him to come back, but the stillness and silence surrounds him like a soft blanket and he is immediately asleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s not sure how much later it is - could be 20 minutes, could be 20 hours - but the next thing he knows he feels Quill’s arms around him, solid and strong. His body is warm; his heartbeat is steady.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, Evel Knievel. That’s enough space for one day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter?” Matt struggles slightly as Peter picks him up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shh… Don’t move, D. You’re fine. I’ve got you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt hums contentedly, and lets himself drift. He feels himself being brought into the Bowie, hears the hatch slide shut, feels the tether unhook from his leg. He can hear the noises of the ship and the people on it, but through the helmet everything is muted and soft. He knows he’s being carried through the ship, then he feels himself being placed gently into a bed. The Daredevil suit is peeled off of him, but the helmet is left in place. The sheets aren’t as soft as he’s used to, but it’s better than the floor and the room smells like Peter. Matt smiles, knows it isn’t visible behind the helmet, reaches out a hand, and then falls back asleep.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The piece of art for this chapter was once again created by the fabulous <a href="https://murdockquills.tumblr.com/l">Murdockquills</a>, for whom this fic was written. It also just happens to be the piece which inspired this entire fic. How do I get Matt into space? How do I make this moment happen??? Needless to say, I love it, and I hope you do too!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  </p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. It's all the Same</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm always ready for a war again</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Go down that road again </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>It's all the same</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I'm always ready to take a life again</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>You know I'll ride again</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>It's all the same </span>
  </em>
</p><p><em><span>Tell me who's gon' save me from myself</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>When this life is all I know</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Tell me who's gon' save me from this hell</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Without you, I'm all alone</span></em> <span><br/>
</span> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/77UjLW8j5UAGAGVGhR5oUK?si=OpG34AP0RFqpKpmPKexgKQ"><span>Pray for Me: The Weeknd with Kendrick Lamar</span></a></p><p>
  <span>The next morning, Peter is walking back from verifying the weapons are properly calibrated - and it’s really just something to do with his hands while they’re waiting for this damned storm to clear - when he’s rewarded with the sight of a shirtless, soft, sleep rumpled Matt sticking his still helmeted head out of the door to his quarters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Matt says quietly, voice slightly distorted, then he jerks his head back in the direction of the room. “Can you…?” He disappears and Peter follows him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt is dressed the same as when Peter left him in his bed - his black boxer briefs and the helmet - and Peter hopes that the sounds of the ship and the dampening effects of the helmet are enough to hide the hitch in Peter’s breath and the way he can’t seem to control his heart. Once was not enough, and he desperately wants to run his hands over all of that exposed skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how to get this off,” Matt admits, sounding a bit embarrassed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Of course. I’m sorry…” Peter moves to press the button that retracts the helmet, then he stills. “Actually, here.” He lets his hand fall down and grabs on to Matt’s, holding it so that one finger is extended. Matt’s hand is warm and offers no resistance as Peter guides it behind Matt's ear. “Feel this?” He runs Matt’s finger over the earpiece. “It’s made to be done by touch. This one,” he stills over the main power button, “will turn it on or off. The rest control some of the specific features, but this one is all you should need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt pushes the button and the helmet retracts, revealing his face. His eyes are wide and his mouth soft, and he looks well rested. “Thank you. Here,” he says, as he unhooks the earpiece and moves to hand it to Peter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter puts up a hand to stop him. “No. I want you to hold on to it for a bit. That way you can use it if you need it to quiet things down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine. I don’t need…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You might, when we jump,” Peter interrupts. “It’s a lot for me and I’m used to it. Ok?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt nods, smiling softly, and hooks the piece back over his ear. “Thank you, Peter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stand there a moment, Peter unable to look away from Matt’s face, Matt’s eyes seeming to be loosely focused on something just over Peter’s left shoulder. Finally, Matt ducks his head and runs his hands through his hair. “Do I… Could you grab me some clothes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit I… Yes.” Peter laughs nervously. “Sorry about that. I’ll go get them.” He leaves, running back to find Matt’s small black bag. It’s still lying where everyone had dumped their luggage, and he kicks himself again for not noticing that it was still there when everyone else had carried theirs to their rooms. He considers the bag for a moment, then grabs the whole thing and not just the items Matt will need. He doubles back to get Matt’s clothes from last night, which were still lying in a pile on the engine room floor, and counts his blessing that nobody else on board felt the need to go exploring. That certainly would have required an explanation he wasn't prepared to give. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He returns to his room with the bag in hand, all of Matt’s clothes having been shoved inside. “It’s all right here,” he says, placing the bag on the bed. Then, awkwardly, “I put it on the corner of the bed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt smiles, and it almost looks sad. “Yeah, I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.” Peter wants to step closer, to pick up his hand again, to pull him close. “I don’t mean to be a dick. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do… what you can see - </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit! </span>
  </em>
  <span>- what you can tell and what you can’t tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” and Matt is the one to step closer. Not touching, but almost touching, and it feels like he wants to touch but is holding back… or maybe Peter is projecting his own feelings. “It’s ok. I get it. It’s different, and different always takes getting used to. When we’re together, just the two of us, assume that I know the shapes of things and where they are. Tracking movement is easy. If something is printed on paper and you give it to me, I can usually read it by touch, as long as the paper isn’t too glossy. Sometimes it’s better than seeing. I could tell you what’s in that bag without needing to open it, what’s in your closet, what’s behind my back, and what Danny is eating right now. I know that something’s beeping up in the cockpit. On the other hand, I don’t know colors and if something is a computer screen, I’ve got nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like the ship controls,” Peter says, realization washing over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt laughs. “Yeah, exactly like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, I’m an asshole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s ok. I hide a lot. Some people have suggested too much.” He nods in the general direction of the cockpit, where the rest of the Defenders and Scott are gathering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter bites his lower lip, gathers his courage, takes a step forward. They’re still not touching, but just barely. “Give me another chance?” he asks softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt takes a deep breath at the same time that Peter finds himself holding his own. He opens his mouth to speak…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quill?? HEY QUILL??? Where the heck did you go, man?” Scott’s voice is shouting down the hallway. “Your computer is going bonkers up here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit!” Peter backs away quickly. “I gotta… Maybe put the Daredevil get up back on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. And hurry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter runs out of the room and up to the cockpit where the alerts are screaming at him, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>beeping </span>
  </em>
  <span>as Matt had described it. The storm has cleared and it’s past time to go. He starts flipping switches and pressing buttons, bringing the ship to life and setting the coordinates for their jumps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I help?” Danny asks, as Peter pulls up a star chart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just…” he looks around at the wide eyes, all laser focused on him. Not one of them has ever been in space before, much less done an interstellar jump, and he’s about to take them through seven. “You,” he locks eyes with Scott. “Suit up. Now! I don’t know what it’s going to be like when we get there, and we might not have a lot of time. Everyone else, find a seat and buckle in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scott dashes out right as Matt walks in, red suit on and horned helmet in his hand, and Peter’s mind can’t help but flash back to the night before and how completely at peace the man had been. He shakes his head to clear it. “You’re gonna want to buckle up and activate my helmet, D.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watches Matt just long enough to be sure he’s following directions, then returns to his screen. The coordinates are laid in just as Scott is running back in and buckling himself into the last remaining chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold onto your butts,” Peter mutters, and the ship enters the first jump point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pauses for a moment on the other side, despite the fact that they’re in a hurry. Interstellar travel takes a lot out of you, especially if it’s your first time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jurassic Park reference? Really?” Scott asks, after catching his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, man! I just watched it last week. That was a great movie; I can’t wait to see the rest of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ehh…” Danny says with a shrug. “None of the others live up to the first. The new ones are especially not so great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter looks at Matt, who is unreadable behind the mask. “You ok, D?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt nods. Jessica’s hand is resting on his, and this time Peter feels only grateful that there is someone watching out for him. He meets her eyes, and she gives a small dip of her head in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here we go,” he says, as cheery as he can muster. “Round two!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes longer than Peter would have liked to complete the seven jumps, but the plus side is that he still has a functioning team when they get to Knowhere. “Alright!” he claps his hands together briskly as he talks, the autopilot doing the dirty work of landing the ship. “So probably this is going to be a whole lot of nothing. I find the Guardians, explain to them what the Black Vortex is and why they shouldn’t give it to my old man, we all share a big laugh and a few drinks, and then everyone goes on their way. Just keepin’ it positive, thinking best case scenarios.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the worst case scenario?” Matt asks as he deactivates the helmet. He pulls the earpiece off, hands it to Peter, and then places his own cowl on his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The worst case scenario?” Peter sighs, placing the earpiece behind his own ear. “I suppose the worst case scenario is that they saw the Bowie come out of the jump and are waiting for us on the landing pad with rocket launchers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but wouldn’t they have done something by now, then?” Scott asks, and the ship shakes slightly as the landing gear touches down on solid ground. “Gunned us down in mid-air or whatever?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably not. The Bowie is a valuable ship. Rocket wouldn’t blow it up if he thought he could just kill us and then take it unharmed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not especially reassuring,” Luke grumbles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But like I said,” Peter continues cheerily, pressing the panel to open the Bowie’s main hatch. “That’s the worst case scenario! More likely than not everything’s going to be just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first blast is a warning shot, fired between Peter and Luke. It strikes some cargo containers in the Bowie’s hold, knocking them to the ground in a shower of sparks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Worst case scenario, then,” Jessica shouts at him as she starts to move forward, out of the ship and onto the landing area where the Guardians are waiting. Jessica’s eyes are locked on Nebula. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be careful,” Peter shouts as he follows after her. “She can pack a nasty…” He’s knocked to the ground, and it takes a moment for him to recognize the black and gold streak that’s barreling down on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rich, what the hell,” he shouts, managing to get his helmet activated before Richard’s fist collides with his skull. “What are you doing, man? We’re just here to talk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you were here to talk, why didn’t you send a message?” Richard replies, striking out at him again, and Peter just manages to dodge another blow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He scrambles to his feet. “I wasn’t sure you were here. I didn’t know if something would get intercepted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit!” Richard swings again, and Peter tries to dodge it but Richard’s fist makes contact with Peter’s shoulder and knocks him backwards. “You wouldn’t have come here if you weren’t sure you’d find us. We know you’re after the Vortex, Peter. We can’t let you take it to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take it to… WHAT?” He tries to hold up his hands, to defuse the fight, but Nova is still coming at him, and the air is knocked out of him as Rich drags him to the ground. “I’m not,” Peter coughs, trying to catch his breath. He can taste blood. “I’m not going to take the Black Vortex to anyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you’re not, Peter. Because I’m not going to let you.” He knowingly reaches towards the back of Peter’s head and deactivates his helmet. “I’m sorry, friend,” he says, looking down into Peter’s face. “But I don’t have a choice.” He draws his fist back, and Peter closes his eyes and tries to brace himself against the impact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a thunk and Peter opens up one eye, peeking up. Daredevil is standing above him, a vision in red and black leather, and Peter winces as he turns his head to see Nova knocked unconscious at his side. “Thanks, D. I owe you,” Peter says, accepting Matt’s hand as he hauls him to his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pay me back by ending this,” Matt says, gesturing around them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter pauses to take in the fight. Jessica is grappling with Nebula, and seems to be giving the woman a run for her money. Luke is being held down by Groot, who appears to have gotten bigger since the last time that Peter saw him. Danny and Colleen both have their fists glowing, and are back to back facing off against Noh-Varr and Phyla-Vell. Scott is facing off against Rocket and, for whatever reason, has shrunk himself down so that the two of them are approximately the same size. Peter points at them. “What the fuck is going on there?” he asks Matt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beats me! Something about the… whatever that is… Scott keeps calling him a raccoon but that can’t be right, can it?” Matt tilts his head to the side and seems to be considering Rocket.”Anyway, Scott said he’s too squirrely and small to catch, and he thought it would be easier to fight him if they were the same size. Ah shit!” Groot has Luke in a chokehold, and Matt is suddenly leaping over to them, vaulting over a smaller ship as if it were nothing, and slamming a foot into Groot’s trunk. Groot shouts in surprise and pain (“I AM GROOT!”) and releases Luke, turning his attention to Matt who dives and weaves gracefully, avoiding his branches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goddamnit,” Peter mutters, reactivating his helmet and striding down the landing-pad-turned-battlefield towards Rocket. “HEY!” he shouts, switching his element guns to water and firing a stream of the stuff at his sometimes friend. “What the hell, man?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rocket turns towards him, shaking water out of his eyes, and snarls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it! You know I could have just hurt you if I wanted to.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to fight you, man. I just came to talk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your finger is still on the trigger!” Rocket shouts back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I’m not a fucking idiot!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is debatable,” Nebula throws over her shoulder while also holding Jessica in a headlock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should have stayed on Earth, Peter,” Nova says, standing up behind him, rubbing his head where Matt clocked him. “We can’t let you take the Vortex to J’Son.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not trying to take the Vortex to J’Son,” Peter shouts. “I’m trying to stop you from taking it to him!!!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone stills instantly, except Groot, who is thrashing wildly while Luke sits on his trunk, holding as many of his branches in his hands as he can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I AM GROOT!!” Groot shouts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME!!” Luke shouts back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He says you’re sitting on his balls, man,” Rocket says, glaring at Luke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Shit!” Luke jumps up quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rocket laughs. “Humies are such fucking idiots. TREES DON’T HAVE BALLS, YOU BIG DUMMY!!!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we just stop,” Peter exclaims, holding his hands up again. “Can we talk for just a minute, without fighting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I suppose,” Rocket says, waving at the others and taking a step forward. “But only ‘cause we was winning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were not winning,” Peter counters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, we were totally winning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were not…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“PETER!” Colleen shouts to interrupt. “Is this </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> what’s important now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter looks at her, lifting his hands in a small motion of acknowledgement and apology. “You’re right. Colleen is right, everybody. She’s the Immortal Iron Fist, and she is wise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Danny says softly, from where he’s stuck under Marvel Boy’s boot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not here for the Black Vortex,” Peter continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like hell you’re not,” Nebula rasps. “You intend to give it to your father. You took payment from Delphinia for the job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t,” Peter insists. “I mean, I totally did. You’re right that I took the units from Delphinia, but I didn’t realize who she was working for. As soon as I figured it out, I high-tailed it right out of there and I hid on Earth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you kept the units?” Nebula clarifies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well of course I kept the units!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what evidence do we have that you truly do not intend to complete the job?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. My word?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nebula, Rocket, and Nova all let out a huff at the same time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, come on guys. Don’t be like that.” Peter can’t help but roll his eyes and he lowers the mask. “I know I messed up. I admitted I messed up, and I’m trying to do better. I wouldn’t help J’Son get that kind of power? And anyway, what about you? Now you’re after the Vortex, and Alpha Flight is pretty convinced that you’re planning on giving it to J’Son yourselves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not planning on </span>
  <em>
    <span>giving </span>
  </em>
  <span>it to J’Son,” Rocket says, overly emphasizing giving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you say it like that,” Peter asks, narrowing his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know like what!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t know like what, Quill. Why don’t you tell me like…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“BOYS!” Colleen and Phyla-Vell shout in unison. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just tell him what’s going on,” Phyla-Vell huffs at Rocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me? Why should I have to? It’s not my plan… Hey, where’s the Rider?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m right here,” Richard answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not you ‘ya stupid kid. Did I say Rider? Is that what I said? No, I clearly didn’t. I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>THE </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rider. There’s a difference. Listen with your dumb human ears for once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why the Rider? What is he planning to...” Peter asks, looking around. He suddenly feels panicked. “Hey you guys. Where’s Daredevil?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>***</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt is grappling with what seems to be a sentient tree when he senses him. It’s almost as if the man wasn’t there at all, and then all at once he became the only thing Matt was aware of. Matt can feel him, hear him, smell him. Hell, Matt can practically taste him - fire and leather, cigarettes and exhaust fumes and death. He turns and walks away, holding up a hand in acknowledgement when Luke calls after to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man is standing a ways apart from the fight, and Matt navigates his way through the parking-lot of spacecrafts, not taking the time to admire anything about any of them. He’s in outer-space for pity sake. He should be paying attention, noticing what’s around him. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the man fills his senses, drowning out everything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He isn’t hiding. He never hid, not from Matt anyway. Not from Daredevil, either. He’s standing in the open, away from the fight, leaning against a motorcycle of all things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to see you again, Red.” He says calmly. “It’s been a long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt takes a moment to really notice the man in front of him. To make sure that he isn’t making a mistake - isn’t getting confused. Peter said the jump might mess with his senses, but he’d assumed he’d meant while they were in it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He focuses. Listens. Feels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, there is no mistaking him. The man standing in front of him is Frank Castle. And yet… And yet it can’t possibly be. He has chains made of molten iron wrapped around his torso and waist and spikes jutting out sharply from his shoulders. The weapons in his hands are like no guns Matt has ever experienced. The points of heat on his chest seem like they should be burning him from the inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But none of this is what stands out to Matt. None of it takes his attention away from the most alarming thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man’s head appears to be on fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frank?” Matt manages to ask, not even sure where the words are coming from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah Red. It’s me. Although I go by The Rider now. What’re you doing out here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I came to stop you, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A half smile sneaks across Frank’s face, and Matt wonders how he can even tell that from behind all the flames. “You still think that’s a good plan?” Frank sneers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m starting to doubt it,” Matt admits. “Frank, what the hell happened to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs, and it’s such a casual move from a being so different from anything Matt has ever experienced that it practically gives him whiplash. “Made a deal with the devil. Figure you might know a thing about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt doesn’t know what to say. He spends a moment longer, taking Frank in. “Does it hurt?” he finally asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Frank admits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re with the Guardians?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorta.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t let you take the Black Vortex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank eyes him up. “What do you know about that, Red?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not much,” Matt admits. “It’s kind of out of my area of expertise. But I know it’s powerful and I know you plan on giving it to someone who shouldn’t have that kind of power.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And who do you think should stop me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank laughs, and suddenly Matt has flashbacks of being chained to a rooftop. “That’s stupid even for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d rather not,” Matt agrees. “But if I don’t have a choice, I will fight you Frank.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You would, wouldn’t you?” Frank says, frowning. “Listen, Red, I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, seeing as we’re such good friends and all. I’m not gonna give J’Son the Vortex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s great,” Matt says, taking a step back. Frank’s heartbeat is steady, and even if he isn’t one hundred percent sure that the flaming head isn’t affecting his read on the guy, Frank has never lied to him before. Not once, and Matt doesn’t have reason to believe he’d start now. “Then there’s no need for us to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I”m going to use it to find him, and then I’m going to kill him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt steps back forward, rolling out his shoulders. “I don’t think I can let you do that, either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because, Frank. Killing is wrong. And… And I happen to know J’Son’s son, and while they’re not close I feel like maybe they should have the chance to redeem that relationship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s worth dying over?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not if I can help it.” Matt runs towards Frank, jumping up and kicking him in the chest. Frank stumbles backwards and Matt uses the opportunity to kick his feet out from underneath him but, at the last minute, Frank jumps to the side avoiding Matt’s strike. He’s holstered his weapons and instead his hands are on the molten chain, which he shoots out at Matt like a whip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt barely ducks underneath, cursing under his breath as hot metal swings only inches above his head. He can feel the heat of it, scorching. He rolls as Frank brings it down towards him again, narrowly escaping it tangling around his ankle. “Fuck!” He shouts, as it brushes against his side, burning through the fabric of his suit and charring his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Red!” Frank shouts, and Matt’s attention snaps from the chain to the man. He’s hardly moved. His heartbeat and breathing aren’t even slightly elevated. This isn’t hard for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to do this, Red. I don’t want to hurt you.” Frank is winding up the chain around his chest again, and Matt wonders what he’s gone and done to himself that is keeping it from burning right through him. “But I know you. I know you can’t stop. I know you don’t know how to stay down. So I gotta keep you down. Sorry. I’ll tell your friends where to find you.” And with that, Frank raises one of the weapons, points it at a tall, somewhat dilapidated looking stone wall, and fires. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Frank Castle as the Cosmic Ghost Rider is totally a real thing, and if you haven't done so you should read "Baby Thanos Must Die" because it's a lot of fun and super pretty. Why is he in this fic? Same reason Scott is... because I needed him, alright?</p><p>Also, I know this particular iteration of the Guardians never hung out together and, frankly, I don't care. So shush. </p><p>KISSES!!!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. You'll Be Just Fine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi! I noticed yesterday that Sunday's chapter had an incorrect posting date and a low hit count. I'm not sure if those two things were related or if people were just busy. Anyway, this is a friendly note saying... if you didn't read the chapter with the dumb fight scene, please go back and read it because it's (1) super important to what's going on in the plot, and (2) a piece of nonsense that I am especially proud of. </p>
<p>XOXO<br/>~Gwen</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing's gonna hurt you baby</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>As long as you're with me, you'll be just fine</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing's gonna hurt you baby</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing's gonna take you from my side</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When we dance in my living room</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>To that silly '90s R&amp;B</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>When we have a drink or three</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Always ends in a hazy shower scene</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p><em><span>Nothing's gonna hurt you baby</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>As long as you're with me, you'll be just fine</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>Nothing's gonna hurt you baby</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>Nothing's gonna take you from my side</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/3GhsBdS9ulPK3KCdwHRPhG?si=D8NIbv7nQWmQZPq3dbDfRg"><span>Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby: Cigarettes After Sex</span></a></p>
<p>
  <span>Peter knew what was happening a second before the wall came down. The Rider was vicious, and he’s been told Daredevil doesn’t know when to back down, and there was absolutely no way it was going to end well. Peter took off running and he didn’t stop. He didn’t stop when he felt the boom of the Rider’s hellfire guns. He didn’t stop when he heard the sound of the stone wall collapsing. He didn’t stop when he saw the dust rising into the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Rider was still there when Peter got to the scene of the collapse, casually making his exit. He’d pointed at the pile of dusty rubble, said “He’s there. He’ll be fine. He’s lived through worse,” and kept moving.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alpha flight will be after you!” Peter had shouted at his retreating form.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let them come!” The demon had shouted back, before climbing onto his hellcycle and riding it straight up into the sky, leaving a trail of blue lighting and red sparks behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which, honestly, was really fucking overdramatic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d dug Matt out - he’d been breathing but unconscious - and then they’d carried him back to the Bowie. There wasn’t much else they could do. The basic medical equipment on board confirmed what they already knew, which was that Matt was alive but pretty fucked up. Danny tried... something. He made his fist glow and pressed it to Matt’s chest, which - well - he said it would help. But Matt had still been unconscious, so Peter did the only thing he could think of: he put his helmet on Matt and then jumped them to Xandar. Peter knew it was risky; each of them had at least a few warrants out for their arrest, but also Rocket had swiped the Black Vortex off of the Rider when he wasn’t looking, so he figured that had to count in their favor.</span>
</p>
<p><span>Brand met them there, taking the Vortex, and between that and Rich putting in a good word for them they seemed to be alright. Matt was whisked away to a medical facility and the rest of the team were provided with rooms to stay in. Rocket reached out to some contact who would be there in a few days with the ship the Guardians had abandoned on Knowhere. Rocket invited Peter to come with, which was something Peter had wished for while never imagining it could happen. </span><br/><br/>He declined anyway.</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, Peter was sitting in an uncomfortable chair, staring at the broken body of the man who was the reason he was staying behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s going to be ok,” Danny says, walking up behind them. “I’ve balanced his Chi twice before, and knocked him out those times too. It affects people differently, but his body is healing itself.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter shakes his head. Matt doesn’t look like he’s healing himself. He’s covered in bruises from head to toe; the darkest one over his ribcage is almost black. He’s lying in a hospital bed. A half-tube looking hood is suspended above him, bathing him in a blue light. The doctors who had checked him over had done a shitty job cleaning him up, and he still has blood crusted on his forehead and in his hair. It clings to the inside of his ear and sticks to his knuckles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should get some rest.” Danny lays a hand on his shoulder. “I can take a turn sitting here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, it’s ok.” Peter forces a smile. “I don’t mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Danny narrows his eyes, but thankfully turns and walks away. “I’m going to find you something to eat,” he calls over his head as he leaves the room. “You won’t be any use to him when he wakes up if you’ve passed out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter watches him go, then turns his attention back to Matt. This is his fault, of that he has no doubts. He dragged Matt along on a foolish mission when there hadn’t even been any need for them to come! The Guardians were never going to give the Vortex to J’Son. He should have known better. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>have reached out to them. Instead, he’d just taken Brand at face value, she’d gotten him to do her dirty work for him, and Matt had paid the price. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the worst thing is that it hadn’t even been about the mission. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Peter corrected himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the worst thing is the fact that Matt is unconscious in a hospital bed on Xandar. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But the fact that it hadn’t even been about the mission just added insult to injury. Jessica had said that they knew the Rider - that he and Matt went way back. The two of them apparently had some sort of feud. So Peter had dragged Matt across the galaxy, just so he could end up with a wall dropped on him from some jackass that he’d known back in Hell’s Kitchen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter lets out a soft sigh. He’s tired. He’d asked if they could move Matt to a real bed, like the ones the rest of the team had been given, but the doctors turned him down. Matt needs to be here, so he can be monitored. Peter wonders what the hospital will sound like when Matt wakes up - how it will smell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s sure it won’t be good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The doctors had insisted on removing the gold cross Matt wore on a leather rope around his neck. Peter has it around his own neck now, and his thumb brushes across it absentmindedly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wishes someone had taught him how to pray. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He interlaces his fingers with Matt’s, lays his head down on the bed, and falls asleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The crick in his neck tells him he’s been like that for a few hours when he wakes to the feeling of Matt’s fingers running through his hair. He knows that it’s wrong… that he’s supposed to be the one taking care of Matt and not the other way around… but the touch feels so good so he pretends to still be asleep anyway.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you’re awake.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter grunts. “That’s because you’re a dirty cheater.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt laughs, and Peter can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are we?” Matt asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Xandar. It’s in the Andromeda galaxy. How are you feeling?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not bad.” Matt sits up and bangs his head on the blue-light-hood. “I guess I’m a little fuzzy,” he admits, rubbing his head. “But still much better than the last time a building fell on me, that’s for sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Last time…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt waves him off. “A few days of meditating and I’ll be fine. Or a few hours if Danny is willing to help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He already did something,” Peter informs him. “Balanced your chonk?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My Chi.” Matt seems to be considering Peter. Assessing him. Peter wonders how long it will take Matt to find him lacking. “You saying I have chonk that needs rebalancing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean.” Peter can’t help but smile. “But yes? Or no. Whichever the correct answer is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt laughs then winces, hand hovering over his bruised rib. “I think the correct answer is, ‘no, Matthew. All of your chonk is perfectly balanced.’ How long was I out?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Six, maybe seven hours tops. I’m not exactly sure what time it is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt’s eyes go wide as he suddenly remembers. “Peter! Frank… The Rider... He’s got the Black Vortex. He wants to use it as bait to find your father.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know. Rocket told me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We need to stop him!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shh…” Peter feels like he should stand. Like he should wrap his arms around Matt and never let go. He doesn’t move. “It’s fine. I’m not worried.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But Frank’s going to try to kill him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And he might succeed. Or he might not. Or Alpha Flight might stop him. It doesn’t matter.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But the Vortex.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rocket snagged it from him, replaced it with some knock-off. He probably hasn’t even noticed yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’ll be furious.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter can’t help but feel fond. “He can die mad about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He might come after you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt frowns, clearly unable to come up with a response to that, and Peter wants so badly to kiss it off his face. He’s seriously considering it when Matt’s expression falls, shifting into something completely neutral. His head tilts to the side as he sits up straighter on the edge of the hospital bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Less than a minute later, two doctors walk in. They check Matt over and decide that he’s healthy enough to leave the hospital but not healthy enough to be alone. Matt hesitates before asking Peter if he can stay with him, as if he really thinks there’s a chance Peter might say no. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A part of Peter thinks he should say no - that he should tell Matt to stay with Luke or Danny or Jessica… someone who will watch out for him in the way that Peter clearly failed to do on Knowhere. But another, bigger part - the part Peter knows he’s going to be listening to - says there isn’t a chance in hell that Peter will say no, because Peter is selfish and he’s greedy and he needs to know that Matt is ok every second of every day moving forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hospital gives Matt some pants and a shirt - Peter hadn’t known if Matt would be ok with a bunch of aliens knowing his secret identity, so he’d stripped the uniform off of him and carried him into the hospital more than half naked - and it seems unbelievably strange to see him dressed in all white. They walk in silence to Peter’s hotel room and, while Peter may have fallen asleep at Matt’s bedside, he’s not completely useless. He’s got friends on Xandar, and he had already reached out to them to make sure that his room was well stocked with things he thought they might need. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opens the door to a room that is simple, but nice. There’s a living area, separated from the sleeping area with a half wall, and a small kitchenette and table. The things he’d asked for are there too. There’s a bag on the table that he knows contains unscented soaps, and when he checks he sees that food has been put in the refrigeration unit. He looks across the room and sees that his third request has been completed too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t asked Jessica. He hadn’t asked and he never would. Jessica and Matt’s relationship wasn’t any of his business, and it didn’t have any impact on what he and Matt did together. That being said, what she had told him… to say he was thankful was an understatement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“His skin hurts,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jessica had said, before she left him in the hospital together. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“The sheets feel like sandpaper and his skin hurts and he can’t sleep. He won’t say anything. He’ll never say anything. Just… help him sleep. And…” She’d paused. Looked pained like she was betraying a secret. ”Just don’t let him push you away, ok? He’ll try. He’ll try really hard.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hadn’t cost him anything but his pride, and Peter was surprised to discover that he did not give a single solitary fuck about the gleam of triumph in Thor’s eye at being asked for a favor when it meant that there were now Asgardian silk sheets on the bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shower first, or food?” He asks Matt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shower, I think,” Matt says thoughtfully. “Then food. Then maybe a nap.” He rolls out his neck and winces. “Although I was out for long enough you’d think I wouldn’t need it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I promise I won’t tell anybody.” Peter smiles at him. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Even like this. (</span>
  <em>
    <span>Especially like this</span>
  </em>
  <span>, echoes a voice in the back of Peter’s head). “Can I help?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There must have been something in his voice, a secret hidden in his heartbeat, volumes written on a single intake of breath, because Matt considers him for a very long time after that, head tilted to the side, brow furrowed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to,” he finally answers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if I want to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Letting people take care of me isn’t my strong suit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’ll be our secret.” Peter takes his hand, and Matt allows himself to be guided to the bathroom where Peter helps him strip back down to his boxers and then sits him up on the vanity counter. He pulls a package of cleaning wipes out of his bag of supplies, and begins to dab carefully at the wounds on Matt’s face. “Never know what kind of soap you’re going to get in a place like this,” he explains, more to fill the silence than anything else. To give Matt something to listen to that isn’t the traitorous heart doing backflips in his chest. “Everything on Xandar is made to smell nice; they don’t expect people to actually be dirty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt breathes in deeply. “I can’t smell…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had someone come and take it all away while you were in the hospital,” Peter clarifies. “I can hardly stand the shit - all fake lemons and not quite right flowers - I’d hate to think what it would be like to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt gives a strange, half smile, but Peter will take it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway these are from the Bowie. They’re disinfecting and antibacterial.” He moves to the cut on Matt’s arm. It’s mostly healed - maybe Danny did actually do something - and the blood wipes away to reveal fresh, pink skin beneath. Matt doesn’t need this; a shower would be enough. And while Peter suspects that Matt knows this as well as he does, neither of them say anything. “Plus they can get rid of even the weirdest alien funk… not that you smell bad!” He quickly clarifies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt laughs at that, and something like pride bubbles in Peter’s chest. “That explains a lot, actually,” he says, as Peter continues to clean up dried blood. “When I met you, the first thing I noticed was that you didn’t smell like anything. Just… totally neutral. It was weird. Not bad weird,” he adds. “Just unusual.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter hums and takes a step back. “That’s the worst of it. You should take a shower now, for the rest. Here.” He digs in the bag, pulls out a bar of soap, tears open the packaging and hands it to Matt. Matt turns and places it in the shower. “I also got unscented shampoo and conditioner. That’s the shampoo on your right and the conditioner on your left.” He hands Matt the bottles, and watches as Matt places them on opposite sides of the small shelf inside the shower stall. “I’ll give you some privacy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turns to walk out, but Matt stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Could you stay?” He asks hesitantly. “It’s a new place, and the acoustics in a bathroom plus falling water can sometimes…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Peter answers, when Matt trails off. “Whatever you need.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes Matt’s place on the counter as Matt showers, handing him a soft, fluffy towel when he’s done, and then helping him wrap up in a robe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter…” Matt says softly, a question and a request rolled into one, but Peter shakes his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Food next, then a nap,” he says, leading Matt back out to the kitchenette. He’d gotten them the closest thing to chicken noodle soup you could find out here, and while it’s not the same he hopes it’s at least palatable to Matt. The soup is sitting on the counter, packaged in a heating unit, and is still steaming hot as he pours it out into two bowls. They eat quietly, and Peter feels warm and content when Matt goes back for seconds. He couldn’t keep him safe, but at least he can do this, now, after the fact. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter?” Matt asks again, and again Peter deflects.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now a nap, right? That’s what you said.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt frowns but nods his agreement, and he moves easily when Peter guides him to the bed. He gives a small gasp when he slides between the sheets, and for just a moment Peter thinks that just seeing his face like that - the instant of surprise and sheer joy - is enough to make everything else worth it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he remembers that </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything else </span>
  </em>
  <span>includes Matt nearly being buried alive on a mission that wasn’t necessary and that Peter should never have brought him on in the first place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt lifts his head, and there’s a question in his unfocused eyes that Peter can’t place. “Would you…” he starts to ask, before turning away. There’s a moment’s pause and then: “You’re tired too. Come on; there’s room enough for both of us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter wants to resist. He knows he should. He doesn’t deserve to be tucked into bed with a man he almost got killed through his own negligence. But he is tired. His muscles ache and his eyes burn, and he looks longingly at Matt taking up less than a third of the mattress. Peter is aware that he’s weak. He knows what he’s going to do eventually; there’s really no point in dragging things out or pretending he’s going to end up any other way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gently, clinging to the edge so as not to disturb Matt, he climbs into the bed, curls onto his side, makes himself as small as possible, and falls asleep.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Matt has no idea what day it is when he wakes, much less what time. Between being on a spaceship, being knocked unconscious by fucking Frank Castle, and waking up on an alien planet, his internal clock has gone completely to shit. What he does know is that he is lying between the smoothest sheets he has ever experienced in his entire life, and that Peter Quill is lying as far away from him as is possible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gets it. He does. He’d been the only one hurt on Knowhere, and that certainly wasn’t a good look. He’d let Frank get away and, while Peter is playing that off as not being a big deal, Matt certainly can’t expect him to ignore it. Still… It seemed like they were about to have a moment on the Bowie before Scott had interrupted them, and when he’d woken up in the hospital to Peter holding his hand and wearing his cross and there had been a second where he’d hoped...  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt bites down on his lower lip hard, trying to use the pain to drive the thoughts away. Whatever might have been didn’t matter anymore. He had proven himself to be useless, and that wasn’t the kind of person Peter needed to keep around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slides out of bed, stumbling on the way to the bathroom, and his head knocks against a corner aggravating one of the bruises Frank gave him. His senses are a jumbled mess and he curses the feeling of disorientation as he relieves himself, washes his hands, and then splashes cold water on his face. He fumbles around the sink, fingers finally landing on an unopened toothbrush and toothpaste, and he brushes his teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he gets out of the bathroom, he realizes that Peter is awake, sitting up in bed, and it’s a testament to how fucked up he still is that he hadn’t even noticed before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Peter asks. “You’re bleeding.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt’s fingers fly to his forehead. The place where he bumped his head is wet and warm. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just woke up is all. Tripped on the way to the bathroom.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come back to bed? It’s early and you need to rest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re weak, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Matt’s mind helpfully translates.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he goes anyway, stepping carefully, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>he is weak,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and all he wants is for Peter to wrap his arms around him. All he wants is for things to go back to the way they were, before Peter had learned all about Matt Murdock and how Daredevil wasn’t good enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt climbs back into bed and faces away from Peter. Even this close he can’t tell what Peter is thinking, but he still knows the man is staring at him. He can practically feel Peter’s eyes boring into the back of his skull. His heart is racing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anger? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Matt thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Frustration? Annoyance?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could have woken me up,” Peter says softly, and that’s the opposite of what Matt had expected. “I wouldn’t have minded. If you needed help... You can wake me is all I’m saying. Any time. This is my fault anyway…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not the one who dropped the wall on me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I brought you here. I dragged you into my mess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t have come if…” Matt trails off. “If I didn’t think it was a worthy cause,” he finishes, instead of what he wants to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not worthy of shit, Matt. If I was, I’d be able to keep good things in my life.” And there’s no mistaking the bitterness in Peter’s voice, the pain and regret there. “Speaking of which, here. You probably want this back. I was just holding onto it for you so it didn’t get lost.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter sits up, pulls Matt’s necklace from his neck and holds it out. Matt shifts to sitting as well, turning to face him. He takes the necklace from Peter’s hand and grips it tightly in his fist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll get out of your hair as soon as I can. Maybe someone here can help us find our way back to Earth. I’m sure you have places you need to go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter is silent for a long time, staring at his hands, and Matt is convinced he’s probably trying to decide the fastest way to get Matt and the Defenders on a transport ship and out of his life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t tell what this is,” he finally says. “Is this you trying to push me away, or do you really hate me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jessica… she said you’d try to push me away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You talked to Jessica about me?” Matt could hear the accusation in his own voice. He knew it was covering the shame.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no. I…” Peter’s voice falters. “She talked to me. She didn’t say much - just told me you’d appreciate softer sheets, and that I shouldn’t let you push me away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did this?” Matt runs his hands along what is arguably the smoothest thing he’s ever had the luxury of pressing his skin against. </span>
</p>
<p><span>“I wanted you to be able to sleep. Matt…” Peter hesitates again. “I’m only going to say this once, ok, because if you really want me to go away then I don’t want to push. I don’t want to force myself on you, but you put up all these walls. You</span> <span>told me that people only like Matt Murdock or Daredevil, but that doesn’t make any sense because they’re the same person. I get why you keep those parts of your life separate, but you don’t have to. Not all the time. Not with me. Let me take care of you. At least for a little bit? If for no other reason than it would make me feel better about everything that happened. Please, Matt. Please don’t push me away just yet.”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>Matt sits in stunned silence, until Peter starts speaking again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe we can start small, ok? Can I… could I help you with that?” He’s gotten closer somehow, and he closes one hand around Matt’s wrist and uses the other to pry open Matt’s fingers. He takes the necklace and draws it over Matt’s head. His hands land on Matt’s shoulders, then follow the line of the cord over his collar bones, both coming to rest over the cross lying on his chest. “Is this ok?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt nods, wordlessly, his heart pounding in his ears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Should I stop?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” It’s barely a whisper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok. You can tell me if you change your mind, though. I only want…” Peter trails off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want, Peter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You.” His lips brush Matt’s as he speaks. “I only want you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then Peter is kissing him, hard and insistent and without question or apology, like the kisses in his apartment, want turning to need almost immediately. Peter pushes him back into the mattress and Matt goes easily, arms up around Peter’s shoulders, pulling their bodies flush together. Peter’s body is warm and solid, and Matt drags his hands against Peter’s back, desperate for any skin he can reach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sure this is ok?” Peter asks. “You’re - fuck! - you’re hurt. You’re supposed to be resting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told you I’m fine,” Matt growls, wrapping an arm firmly around Peter’s back and flipping them so he’s straddling Peter’s hips. “I’m fine,” he says softer this time, hands coming to Peter’s hair, dragging his fingers through the longer pieces on top. He closes his eyes, leans forward, and presses his nose into the crook of Peter’s neck. “You really want me? Even after everything?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do.” Peter cups Matt’s jaw. “I have since the first time I saw you, storming in to rescue me, soaking wet with no plan…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had a plan!” Matt objects. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter hums and strokes his thumb across Matt’s jawline.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, I had a part of a plan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And then you kicked the door down to save me after I got arrested.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You hated that,” Matt objects.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t. I wanted to, but I didn’t. You push every single button I have, Daredevil-slash-Matt-Murdock.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You make it sound like I’m kind of a mess,” Matt says, kissing up and down Peter’s neck and ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kind of a mess is one of my buttons.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt laughs, a soft, genuine laugh, and Peter uses the hand on his chin to guide their lips together again into a slow, soft kiss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re fucking beautiful,” Peter murmurs when they pull away, and Matt takes a moment to consider him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“May I touch you?” Matt asks softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At this point, I’d be offended if you didn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I mean…” Matt smiles and ducks his face but Peter guides it back up again. “May I </span>
  <em>
    <span>touch </span>
  </em>
  <span>you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something catches in Peter’s throat, and he nods his agreement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What color is your hair?” Matt asks, combing his fingers through it again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Blonde,” Peter answers. “But the sides and the beard are darker.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like how this feels,” Matt says, running his hands over the shortly cropped hair on the side of Peter’s head, then nuzzling his cheek up against Peter’s beard. He plants a wet kiss on Peter’s neck, then nips gently at the skin before sitting back up onto his heels. He brings his fingertips to Peter’s forehead and begins to map out the planes of his face. “And what color are your eyes?” he asks, tracing a thumb gently over Peter’s eyelids. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Blue. But like, a greyish blue?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gorgeous,” Matt sighs, kissing across his cheekbones. “And your lips,” he says softly, tracing his fingers across them. “I know your lips. I’ve been dreaming about your lips.” He kisses Peter’s lower lip, then sucks it into his mouth, dragging his teeth across it as he released it. “Your lips get so hot and swollen. I’m sure they must be bright red.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, Matt!” Peter gasps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Matt chides with a grin. “Watch the language.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “Fuck you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If that’s what you want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He keeps working down Peter’s body, pausing momentarily to lay his hand over Peter’s neck and squeeze ever-so-slightly. He’s rewarded by a whimper and the quickening of Peter’s heart rate and, excited as he is by that discovery, he’s also glad to realize that his sense of hearing seems to be getting better by the minute. Hands drag over Peter’s shoulders, down his arms and across his chest. He pauses to play with Peter’s nipples, rolling them first between his fingers, then sucking one followed by the other into his mouth. He kisses down the deep lines of Peter’s abs, hands gripping tightly to Peter’s hips, feeling warmth pooling under his fingertips as the blood vessels reach the surface and burst. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’ll have bruises there tomorrow</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Matt thinks, just a little possessively. He makes a mental note to search them out so he can brush his lips across the swollen marks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pauses when he reaches the waistband of Peter’s sweatpants. “What do you want?” he asks again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter shakes his head, wordless with want and need. Matt can smell it on him. He can feel the heat of his cock, jutting up into the thin fabric of his pants. He can taste Peter’s arousal in the air, mixed with his own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have anything?” Matt asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In the bag on the counter.” Peter flails his arm, gesturing in the general direction. “I can get it. Just let me…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh-uh.” Matt pats him lightly on the hip, then stands and moves towards the bag. The details of the room are coming to him much more clearly now - where objects are and what’s inside them - and when he moves the duffle-like-bag he can hear the viscous slosh of lube and the crinkle of a condom wrapper. He can feel the movement of Peter pulling off his pants behind him. Matt retrieves several small packets of lube and a condom from the side pocket of the bag, and returns to the bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re walking better,” Peter says up at him breathlessly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m feeling better,” Matt agrees, stripping off his own pants and standing at the foot of the bed. He picks up one of Peter’s feet, presses the sole to his lips, and then shakes the leg, encouraging Peter to roll over. Peter goes willingly, grabbing a pillow and passing it down to Matt as he turns. Matt crawls up between his legs and, when Peter lifts up his hips, Matt slides the pillow underneath. “I don’t do this, you know,” he says, planting a kiss on the swell of Peter’s ass. “Not ever. Super sensitive taste-buds and all. I’m sure you understand. But you…” He licks a hot stripe over Peter’s tight hole, and Peter screams, fingers grabbing on to the super silky sheets. “You’re just so… God. I can’t fucking get enough of the taste of your skin.” He does it again, and again, and the noises that Peter is making underneath him are absolutely delectable - soft whimpers and short gasps for breath. Curses that are so creative that Matt can’t help but smile. Occasionally, something in a language that Matt only recognizes as not being from Earth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt doesn’t keep it up for long - the twinge in his ribs is increasing to an ache, reminding him that he really is supposed to be resting. As he pulls away, he makes sure to rub his rough jawline across Peter’s ass and along the line where his thigh comes to meet it, relishing the feel of heat blooming across Peter’s skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sits up, twisting in the wrong direction and wincing, hand instinctively gripping his side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey!” And of course Peter would notice immediately. “I saw that. You’re hurting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t care. You need to rest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You really want me to stop?” Matt questions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not a chance in hell.” Peter grins at him. “But it’s not like we don’t have options. Come on. Lie down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt allows himself to be guided to the head of the bed, where Peter stacks up all the pillows and arranges Matt against them. “Give me that,” Peter says, taking the lube from his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter, sweetheart,” Matt starts to protest. “I want to…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I want you to, believe me. I already know what those fingers can do. But we’re going to have to save that for next time. And believe me there is going to be a next time. There are going to be a whole bunch of next times. Today,” he kisses the palms of both of Matt’s hands, then releases them. “You’re going to sit there and listen while I take care of you.” He lubes up his fingers, and the noise he makes when he breeches his own body is one of the most erotic things Matt has ever heard - a low whine, soft and breathy. Matt allows his head to thunk hard against the wall. “Yeah? You like that, Matt?” Peter asks, and Matt hears him whimper as he pushes a second finger into his body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t,” Matt says with a frown. “Don’t hurt yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not hurting myself.” Peter lets out another small whine. “I just want…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want it too.” Matt runs a hand down Peter’s side and begins rubbing circles over his hip bone. “But take care of me by taking care of yourself, ok?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter moves more slowly after that, opening himself up carefully, and Matt can hear the moment he’s ready. His body is relaxed and open, and Matt rolls on the condom and applies a generous layer of lube before sliding a hand across Peter’s spine, urging him up into his lap. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter moves easily, straddling Matt’s hips. Matt bends his knees, placing his feet square on the bed, and Peter tucks his feet under Matt’s thighs before reaching back, giving Matt’s cock one long, slow stroke, and then lining it up to his hole. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go slow,” Matt says softly, breathing the words into Peter’s skin. He has one hand splayed out wide across Peter’s back, holding their bodies close together. The other hand is resting on Peter’s hip. Peter kisses him, control and coordination quickly vanishing as he pushes himself back and down, spearing himself on Matt’s cock. Matt can feel Peter’s body open up around him, and the wet heat of him is practically scorching. When he feels Peter bottom out, Matt holds him firmly by his hip, keeping him still.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter grabs onto Matt’s shoulders, and Matt can feel him searching his face. He takes a deep breath, centers himself, and then nods. Peter starts to move immediately, lifting up until Matt can feel the tug of his rim on his head, then sliding back down until his ass hits Matt’s pelvis. Peter’s cock is trapped between their bodies, leaking as it rubs against Matt’s chest, and it’s obvious from the way Matt feels and the sounds Peter is making that this isn’t going to last very long for either of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter picks up the pace, and Matt can feel himself reaching the point of no return. “Please.” Matt barely has to whisper. Peter is leaning forwards, has their foreheads pressed together. “Please, you gotta slow down. I’m not going to last.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t want you to last,” and… </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh… </span>
  </em>
  <span>If the pounding of his heart wasn’t enough of a giveaway, the tone of his voice is obvious. Peter is just as close to the edge as Matt is, holding on by just a thread aa he bounces on Matt’s cock. “Need you to touch me. Please. Please, Matt. Please, please, please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Fuck, sweetheart. Anything.” Matt releases Peter’s hip and reaches between their bodies, wrapping his fingers around Peter and stroking him in time with his own movements. He kisses Peter again. “Come on. I need to hear you. Need to feel you. Give me what I need.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt twists his wrist on the upstroke, dragging his thumb along the vein, and that’s all it takes for Peter to fall over the edge, come splashing wet and warm between their bodies. He clenches down hard, and Matt rolls his hips once, twice, and then he’s coming too, feeling Peter tremble around him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stay like that for a long time, Peter in Matt’s lap. Peter’s hands frame Matt’s face as he kisses over the cuts and bruises. Matt wraps one arm around Peter’s waist and uses the other to cup around the back of Peter’s head, holding him close.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they finally climb out of bed, Matt leads Peter back to the shower. They wash each other - wet kisses and gentle touches, praise spoken softly into slippery skin. They dry but don’t bother getting dressed, and they eat an easy breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast with towels wrapped around their waists. When they’ve finished eating (“Hey Peter?” “Yeah, Matt?” “What kind of animals did those eggs come from?” “You know, I’ve learned it’s in everyone’s best interest not to even think questions like that.”) they collapse back into bed, arms and legs tangled together, and fall quickly back asleep.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks as always for reading!!</p>
<p>This slice of hurt/comfort was brought to you today by the following piece of amazing art, created (as always) by <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/murdockquills">@Murdockquills</a>, and because we all know that a bleeding, broken Matt is truly the best version of Matt there is.</p>
<p> </p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Don't Throw It Away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em><span>Something happens, and I'm head over heels</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>I never find out 'til I'm head over heels</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Something happens and I'm head over heels</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>Ah, don't take my heart, don't break my heart</span></em><em></em><span><br/>
</span><em><span>Don't, don't throw it away</span></em><em></em><span><br/>
</span> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/1QPWV0EWKa7GiKO7F7zcVs?si=Jy8nLgGwSE2RFxY1NmdxDg"><span>Head Over Heels: Japanese Breakfast</span></a></p><p>
  <span>Peter isn’t quite sure how it happened. He’s confident that he went to sleep the big spoon, but he definitely wakes up the little spoon. Not that he’s mad about it. Matt is curled in tight around his back, breath warm on his neck. Matt has an arm slung over Peter's side, and his fingers are dancing across Peter’s collarbone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” Matt murmurs, kissing along Peter’s spine. “Or… whatever time it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Intergalactic jet lag is no joke.” Peter plucks Matt’s hand off of his chest and presses his lips to the wrist. He rolls over to face Matt. He looks well rested, some of the lighter bruises already fading. “You know, the past three times I’ve woken up now have been because you woke me up. Do we need to have a conversation about that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you complaining?” Matt asks, palming Peter’s ass and pulling their bodies together.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope.” Peter hooks his ankle over Matt’s calf and inches himself even closer. Matt has one hand on the back of his head, teasing through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. The other is in the small of his back, fingers held wide. “I’m sorry I got you hurt,” Peter says softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t get me hurt; I got me hurt. Frank Castle knows how to get under my skin. I let him distract me, and I paid the price. That’s on me… and Frank… but it’s not on anyone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s something in Matt’s voice, and Peter can’t help but ask, “you and him ever…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Matt laughs. “No. Absolutely not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s handsome though, right? I mean, when he’s not all flaming?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I’ve been told.” Matt presses a thoughtful kiss onto Peter’s forehead. “I’ll have to tell Karen that I saw him, I suppose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s Karen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt makes a face - confusion followed by recognition mixed with a bit of guilt. “She’s my friend, and my coworker. We have a law firm together - Nelson, Murdock, and Page. She’s the Page part. She’s not a lawyer but she does so much and Foggy - that is, my law partner and best friend, Foggy Nelson - he decided she should be on the sign too. She um… She and Frank had a thing for a little bit, before he took off.” Matt shakes his head, a wry smile on his lips. “I bet she’s real sick of the men in her life coming back from the dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to need to explain that one too, Matt,” Peter says, as he snuggles in closer, scootching down the bed so he can tuck his head under Matt’s chin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Oh, I mean it’s nothing really. A few years back, before the snap. There was… It was a big fight. It actually brought the five of us together - Jessica, Luke, Danny, Colleen, and me. I got banged up pretty badly. A building fell on me, actually. I was unconscious for nearly a week and didn’t get full use of my senses back for months. There was a lot of other stuff happening too. This guy… his name is Fisk. He… well, it’s a long story. Anyway, all combined, I ended up in a pretty dark place. The world thought Matt Murdock was dead and I…” He shrugged noncommittally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter pulls back enough to look up at him. “You what, Matt? You let them believe it? Your friends? For how long?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About a year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus. And they forgave you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eventually.” Matt sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So they know, then? About Daredevil?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They do. They know everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter pauses for a moment, considering. “Do they know about me?” He finally asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They do,” Matt says with a soft smile. “They knew when we were seeing each other, and they knew when we stopped. They know I’m with you now, out in space. I try not to keep anything from them anymore, especially if I’m not going to be around. I’ve made them worry enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s good. I’m glad. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if you had people like that. I can’t wait to meet them.” Peter feels Matt tense. “That is, if you want to introduce me, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt doesn’t answer, and if Peter didn’t know any better, he’d say the man was looking away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it… Are you embarrassed by me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No. Of course I’m not. Why would you think that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know I’m not as smart as you. I’m not a lawyer. I never could be. Hell, I’m a criminal, Matt. I steal shit and…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that,” Matt interrupts. “It’s not that at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what? Why don’t you want me to meet your friends? Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>best </span>
  </em>
  <span>friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt sighs. “I do want you to meet my friends. It’s just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? What possible reason…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going to happen if Frank kills your dad?” Matt asks abruptly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t change the subject.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not. Can you trust me that I’m not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter considers him for a moment, then answers. “I don’t know. I told you, I don’t care. He’s my father but he didn’t raise me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get that. I’m not arguing that. It’s… And correct me if I’m wrong, but he’s a king, right? The King?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which implies a kingdom, and subjects?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure. I guess so?” Peter scratches at the back of his head, wishing they just could go back to cuddling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what happens to a kingdom and its subjects if the king dies? I’m not talking about your father specifically now. I just mean, generically. Any time a king dies, what happens?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They pick a new king.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They pick one?” Matt asks carefully. “Who picks, Peter? Is it a democratic monarchy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean… I guess it goes to whoever is next in line.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait. Shit. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“And who’s next in line?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter takes a sharp inhale and stares at Matt. He remembers, maybe, once upon a time somebody telling him not to argue with a lawyer. He ducks his head back into Matt’s chest, thankful when Matt’s arms wrap tightly around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s the new king?” Matt asks again, his voice low.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me.” He lies there for a moment, allowing himself to be cocooned in Matt’s warmth. “But they can’t make me. J’Son, he tried to pass it on once before and it didn’t go so great. I walked away. I can say no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And then what?” Matt squeezes him tighter. “Then there’s a power vacuum, and I think you know as well as I do that nothing good ever comes from that. Are you really going to let your people...?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re not my people though!” Peter pushes back, looking up at Matt again, nearly shouting. “They’re not. I don’t know them, and I’m not good at being king.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re still your people, and if they were suffering…” Matt stops, a pained expression on his face. “It doesn’t even matter. Not really. Being the king is the least of it. You remember that time on my rooftop when you pointed out the stars? You talked about how few you could see, but that was a good night, Peter. A good night. The skies were clear. New York has smog and clouds and light pollution… You belong to the stars. I couldn’t ask you to give that up, just like I hope you’d never ask me to leave Hell’s Kitchen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter is silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want this. I want you. But when I think about the future…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll make it work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, ok?” Peter is shouting now, and he can see Matt wince but it’s not enough to stop him. “I don’t know. But I’m not willing to just lie here and say that this doesn’t matter!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not saying it doesn’t matter! I’m just saying…” Matt’s arms release their death grip around his body, and Peter can feel him pull away slightly. “I’m just saying that, the more of my life I let you into, the more it’s going to hurt when you’re gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter moves to sit, pulling back from Matt’s arms, and as he goes he can see Matt retreating back into himself. “Hey, none of that ok?” He puts a hand on Matt’s chin and lifts it up slightly so he can see Matt’s eyes. They’re shiny with unshed tears. “I’m not going anywhere. I just need… There.” He gets himself settled so he’s sitting cross legged, leaning back against the head of the bed. “Alright, come here,” he says, patting his thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt bites his lower lip and gives a small smirk, shaking his head. “I’m not going to sit in your lap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t fit, for one. And it’s silly…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was I or was I not sitting in your lap just last night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t say you were sitting in my lap so much as you were riding my…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just get up here, would ya? I’m trying to be serious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt laughs, and then he’s moving, draping his legs over Peter’s thighs and crossing his ankles behind Peter’s back. “This is awkward. I don’t fit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up. You fit just fine.” He wraps his arms around Matt’s back, holding him in place. “Listen, you’re a smart dude. I get that. You’re a big shot lawyer, probably did great in school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I graduated top of my class.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you did, Matty.” Peter rolls his eyes and hopes the gesture isn’t lost on Matt. “But here’s the thing I’ve learned about people: They’re not going to follow your rules.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know that,” Matt says, kissing him softly on the corner of his mouth. “If they did, I’d be out of a job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter slaps Matt on his ass. “Har har, very funny. You a lawyer or a comedian? Ok. How about this? How are your magic lie detector senses doing? All back to normal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt takes a moment, assessing. “Yeah, I think so. Good enough, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, give me your hand.” Matt holds up his hand and Peter places it over his own heart. “What’s your middle name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I’m doing a thing, alright? Just tell me already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Michael.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, can you get any more biblical?” Matt scowls and Peter laughs, holding Matt’s hand even more tightly to his chest. “Matthew Michael Murdock, AKA Daredevil, AKA the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, whatever happens, you and I will figure out a way to stay together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are tears in Matt’s eyes again as he smiles at Peter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I lie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. You didn’t. But -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No buts!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But,” Matt repeats himself. “All that means is that you believe it, not that it’s actually true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the thing, Matt,” Peter insists. “If I believe it, and you believe it, then the rules don’t apply to us anymore. We get to write our own rules, yeah? And I believe it, so now you gotta believe it too. Can you do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt is quiet for a long time, and when he does speak his voice is small and restricted. “I can try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s good enough for me!” Peter wraps his hand around Matt’s back and pulls them tight together. “Now’s the part when you kiss me,” he whispers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that so?” Matt whispers back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm. And then you flip us over and fuck me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so glad you have this all figured out,” Matt says, even as his mouth is pressing against Peter’s, half the words lost in a scorching kiss. He flips them as he’s kissing down Peter’s neck, one hand tight in Peter’s hair, the other manhandling him into position. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, shit. Just like that,” Peter whimpers as Matt bites down on his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter is pretty sure it’s not coincidence when Matt licks across the bruises he’d left on his hips the night before, and he’s definitely impressed when Matt reaches behind himself and expertly retrieves the bottle of lube that was hidden beneath a pile of crumpled blankets. But none of that compares to the feeling of Matt pushing into him again, the look on his face as he gets lost in the sensation, the way his arms shake and then give out as he comes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter believes it. Even if Matt doesn’t yet, he can believe it enough for the both of them.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They have to leave the room eventually. Matt is fully recovered and he can hear Jessica talking about him from down the hall. What makes it worse is that he knows Jessica knows that he can hear her, and when she says: “he’s probably making Peter spend all his time on his knees… Praying!! Of course I mean praying...” Matt has had enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He loves Jessica; he really does. And he knows her well enough to know that she loves him too - albeit neither of them in the way that Matt had desperately clung to during the Decimation. It had been strange when she had pulled him aside on the Bowie. It was like no time had passed - like they were back together in his apartment, just the two of them, on one of those rare nights where they didn’t bury their trauma beneath physical violence and sex, where they somehow managed to find the words to express a fraction of the pain they both lived with every day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt forgets sometimes… and maybe it’s more that he doesn’t let himself remember… but she knows him better than anyone else. Better than his priest. Better than Sister Maggie. Better even than Foggy. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You gotta let him in.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jessica had started mid conversation, just like they always had. Trusting, knowing that they understood each other implicitly.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “He can take it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘You couldn’t.’ Matt didn’t need to say the words. Jessica had been able to read his face from the moment he burst into her interrogation cell, so many years ago.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I could have. You never gave me the chance.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Matt started to protest, but Jessica held up a hand to stop him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s not a fair comparison. I wasn’t all in with you, either. But Quill… Fuck, Matt, the man’s an open book, and he is gone for you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s because he doesn’t realize…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Shut up. Just…” She clenched her jaw and shook her head. “You deserve good things, Matt Murdock. The only person who doesn’t believe that is you. But if you don’t let that big blond himbo all the way into your life, he will leave and he will reinforce your belief that nobody wants you when the reality is that you won’t let anyone be close.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The shock on Matt’s face must be obvious.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, yeah. I know. Trish makes me do a whole lot of therapy, ok? It has its benefits.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And that answered the question of where Jessica had been. Matt had heard rumors that a significant portion of the Raft’s prisoners had escaped when the Decimation had been reversed, but it had never been confirmed. He smiled at Jessica. “I’m glad that you and she…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Nope. We’re not changing the subject, Murdock. This isn't about me and my sister. This is about you and the fact that, if you don’t open up, you’re going to break his heart and I think maybe your own too.”  </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Lying next to him now, Peter is all soft curves and gentle smiles. The man is strong, stronger than Matt even, and he knows that’s part of Peter’s appeal. Matt likes a partner who can give as well as they can take - needs to know that someone could stop him if they needed to. But now… when he’s like this, all of Peter’s muscles seem to melt away right along with his arrogance. When he has Peter like this, head resting against Matt’s shoulder, breathing slow and peaceful, he can only think about what an amazing king Peter is going to be. He’s kind, and honest, and selfless, and Matt can’t imagine that the people of Spartax could ever do better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leads Peter to the shower (and Matt is the one who spends time on his knees, Jessica, thank you very much), and they finally put on real clothes and walk down the hall to where the rest of the team is gathered.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He lives!!” Jessica announces when she opens the door. Her eyes dart down to where Peter and Matt’s fingers are interlaced, and Matt can feel her smirk as she lets them into the room. “And it looks like the idiots figured out their shit. Well done, idiots.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was it that obvious?” Matt asks with a slight wince. </span>
  <em>
    <span>To everyone but you? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The question is implied and he knows Jessica hears it. She winks at him then walks back into the room where the Defenders and Guardians are sitting together on three couches that have all been moved to face each other in a small circle. Matt and Peter follow, sitting down next to each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup,” Colleen answers, popping the P.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really obvious,” Danny adds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncomfortably obvious,” Luke says at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Wait what’s happening?” Scott asks, looking back and forth between the two of them. “What are we talking about? What was obvious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That these two needed to bump uglies,” Rocket sneers, jerking a thumb at Matt and Peter. “It’s disgusting.” He turns to Jessica, who has sat down next to him. “And not because they’re two dudes or anything, just so we’re clear. I’m not a bigot. It’s disgusting because they’re both so stupid. Think about what imbeciles the children will be. And hideous to boot!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica considers him for a moment, then pats his head. “You tell ‘em, friend.” She turns to Danny. “They hooked up. You owe me a hundred bucks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We bet ten dollars!” Danny answers incredulously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah but ten dollars for me is definitely one hundred bucks for you. Consider it rich white boy tax.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell?” Danny sounds scandalized even as he pulls out his wallet and hands Jessica a crisp hundred dollar bill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you get such a fancy room?” Peter asks, looking around. The room that they've gathered in alone is as big as Peter and Matt’s entire suite, and doesn't take into account Danny's full sized kitchen or the two large bedrooms and three bathrooms Matt can sense behind the closed doors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m the immortal Iron Fist,” Danny answers. “Protector of K’un-Lun, sworn enemy of the Hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Matt answers, scratching the back of his neck. “We’re all well aware.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well Nova Corp is aware too,” Danny says with a shrug. “And they’re not as rude as you guys are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean that title actually means something to someone?” Luke says incredulously. “And that’s why you got this room? Man, I just thought you paid for an upgrade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No way! I earned my title. Stop being a jerk about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt leans his head against Peter’s shoulder, allowing the sounds of Luke and Danny’s bickering to roll over him. It’s familiar and comforting. He thinks back to the day before and his fight with Peter. As far as he can tell, Peter is already over it. There has been no follow up and no questioning. Matt said he would try, and that was good enough for Peter. Peter believes him in a way that Matt can’t seem to believe himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to believe. He really, really does. But what Peter is asking him for…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Faith.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter was asking him for faith.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Which, of all the things Matt has, isn’t that something he should be able to give? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter kisses the top of Matt’s head. “You ok?” He asks quietly. “We can go if you need to. If you’re hurting…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt shakes his head slightly, not bothering to lift it off of Peter’s shoulder. “No, I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Faith</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“UGHHHH,” Rocket shouts, pointing at them. “See! They’re being gross already!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am Groot,” Groot agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt laughs and sits up, ignoring Peter’s protests as he moves. “So, what’s the plan?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The plan, it seems, is to stay on Xandar for a few days. Richard has business to take care of there, and Rocket is waiting for his ship. Danny, Colleen, and Luke all want to look around the city, knowing this will likely be their only time in space and, while Jessica acts unimpressed, Matt can tell she’s excited too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They spend their days as tourists, Peter and Richard and Rocket taking turns showing them the fountains and museums and monuments of the city - tributes to a world that was torn apart and then put back together again. Matt can’t help but notice how the Guardians take pleasure in out-doing each other; finding shops or food stalls that the others weren’t aware of. Peter seems especially proud when Phyla-Vell brags of a specific delicacy that she claims can only be found on Renault VII, and then he turns around and procures it from a small hole-in-the wall diner not 100 feet away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s kind of like a spring roll, kind of like a taco, and it appears to be filled with something sort of like cheese.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s amazing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt wonders if Peter could ever be that proud unveiling the surprise treasures of New York. The city is big, with a lot of hidden gems, but it is nothing compared to the vastness and variety of space.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At night, Matt tries to lose himself in Peter - in the warmth of his body, in the smooth glide of his skin, in the faint smell of his hair, in the sound of his breath. Peter falls apart so beautifully and, during the hours that they spend locked in each other's embrace, Matt is almost able to convince himself. Peter believes and his belief is tangible - thick and heavy. It surrounds Matt like a blanket and he allows himself to be smothered by it. He would drown himself in it, if he could. He wants it to consume him, to become a part of him, so that he can fully claim Peter’s belief as his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Faith.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When Peter falls asleep, Matt listens to the city. It’s peaceful, and Matt thinks of the stories that Peter has told him of his adventures. He thinks about his place in a universe that has no need for Daredevil’s skills. There’s a devil inside of him, and he knows first hand what happens when it isn’t given the chance to run free. When he can’t think anymore, he lies in their bed and prays to the God that he’s not sure can hear him this far from home. He prays for courage. He prays for strength. He prays for compassion. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He prays for faith.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading as always! Today's chapter was inspired by a little soft Matt/Peter, drawn by the one and only <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/murdockquills">Murdockquills</a>. Go give them all the love on Tumblr!!</p><p> </p><p>  </p><p> </p><p>[ID: A black and white drawing of Matt and Peter from the waist up. Matt appears to be sitting on Peter's lap, although both of their legs are out of frame. Matt has one hand around Peter's waist and the other around his shoulders, and Peter is looking up at Matt lovingly. Both men are scruffy. Matt's glasses have been colored in red, and that is the only color in the image.]</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. That Fragile Smile</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Why yes I did intentionally use the Cars 2 version of this chapter's song. No, it doesn't have a deeper meaning. I just think it's a bop!! Thanks for asking!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>You might think it's hysterical</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>But I know when you're weak</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>You think you're in the movies</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>And everything's so deep</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>But I think that you're wild</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>When you flash that fragile smile</span>
  </em>
</p><p><em><span>You might think it's foolish</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>What you put me through</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>You might think I'm crazy</span></em><em></em><span></span><br/>
<em><span>All I want is you</span></em><em></em><span><br/>
</span> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/5tKlIgkTo8QZBVLGkyhEso?si=cfYbAoZ0SVqNIt-oThi76g"><span>You Might Think: Weezer</span></a></p><p>
  <span>The trip back to Earth is uneventful. Rhodey is obviously furious when they return, but Matt stays out of it. He chooses, instead, to stand close by Peter’s side, masked of course, running a hand gently up and down Peter's back while Scott defends their actions. When Rhodey sends them on their way, and Scott brags that he could be a lawyer too, Matt doesn’t mention that it wasn’t Scott’s argument, specifically, that was convincing... so much as it was Rhodey’s desire to be done listening to Scott argue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Who said Daredevil didn’t have any friends? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They settle into an easy routine. Peter keeps his apartment in Bed-Stuy and stays there on nights he works at the bar. Nights he doesn’t work, he spends with Matt in Hell’s Kitchen. Sometimes Matt will make the trip to Brooklyn and be there waiting for Peter when he gets off of work, but more often he spends those nights out with Danny and Colleen, following up on some tip that Jessica gave them, or patrolling with the spider-kid and his new side-kick. Matt doesn’t really like the guy - a cancer-riddled, foul-mouthed mutant who always smells like blood and gunpowder. He doesn’t get what the spider-kid sees in Deadpool, but who is he to judge? The heart wants what the heart wants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>During the day they spend as much time together as is possible. They go to the gym, listen to music, take walks through the city. Matt does introduce Peter to Karen and Foggy, and he becomes a fast fixture at the office - bringing them coffee and snacks and sometimes even lunch. Foggy is, of course, immediately smitten and the two spend </span>
  <em>
    <span>hours </span>
  </em>
  <span>debating the law while crunching noisily on junk food. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“But why does he have to go to jail at all?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Peter had asked one evening, cool ranch Doritos on his breath, after they’d gotten a client’s sentence reduced to seven years minus time served. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Because he stole eight cars,” Foggy replied.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ok, but he only stole them so he could keep paying the rent and his kid brother could go to school, plus all the people he stole from had insurance so it’s not like they got hurt.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Peter,” Matt sighed from across the room.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, I’m serious,” Peter argued. “It’s not fair. What choice did he have? He’s sixteen! If he would have come clean about his parents being on drugs, they would have taken him and his brother and put them into foster care - split them up, probably. You’re always talking about how terrible the foster system is.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“He’s not wrong,” Karen said fondly.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Matt walked over and kissed him on the cheek. “It’s not our job to make laws, or even to interpret them. We just try to get the best deal we can for our clients, one person at a time.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"That's just stupid." Peter crossed his arms in front of himself and pouted, and Matt couldn't find it in himself to disagree.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>One day they’re especially busy, and Peter offers to deliver some files that the DA’s office had requested physical copies of. From that moment on he becomes their unofficial courier, and honestly he does enough that after a few weeks they start to pay him. Not only is he fast, but he somehow also manages to charm Blake Tower which, they all agree, is worthy of a paycheck all on its own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s arguably too cold for picnics on the roof, but they adjust accordingly. On warmer nights, they do bundle up in their thickest sweaters and wrap themselves in the softest blankets, but most nights they picnic indoors. They go out sometimes - to the restaurants that don’t offer carryout - but more often than not they sit on the floor of Matt’s living room and spread the food out between them there instead. Peter says it’s because picnics are their thing. Matt wonders if he realizes how hard it is for him to eat out - how distracting the sounds and smells of other diners and their food can be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They celebrate Thanksgiving at Peter’s apartment, with Matt convincing Peter to let him cook. A turkey doesn’t make sense for the two of them, so they bake a chicken instead, and Matt makes mashed potatoes and roasted pumpkin and brown sugar beets. Matt is a good cook when he doesn't have to worry about smelling up his own apartment, and Peter is appropriately impressed, going back for seconds and thirds on everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christmas is a small affair: Foggy and Marci, Karen, Peter and Matt gather at Foggy and Marci’s apartment for dinner and presents on Christmas Eve. It's a warm night for December and, after presents have been opened, Matt and Peter walk the few blocks to Clinton Church for midnight mass. The service is beautiful, full of Christmas Carols sung by candlelight. The subtle fragrance of poinsettias and communion wine surround Matt, blanketing him in feelings of </span>
  <em>
    <span>peace </span>
  </em>
  <span>and <em>family and</em> </span>
  <em>
    <span>home. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Over the voices singing, he can hear the slight patter of snowflakes falling on the roof of the church as the snow outside gets thicker and heavier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stands close to Peter, pressing their arms together, as they sing along to Silent Night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Picking out individual people is always challenging in a crowd - it’s not impossible but usually he needs to focus - but even without trying Matt notices her the moment they step into the Narthex. She’s standing off to the side, not moving towards them, always respectful of his privacy. He could easily take Peter’s arm and allow the man to guide him out of the church and onto the street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t, instead opting to steer Peter towards the side atrium. He knows she’s watching… can feel her try not to smile as they approach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas, Matthew.” And Matt always marvels at how her voice seems to be both kind and distant at the same time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas, Sister Maggie,” he says in return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you brought a friend,” she says, arching an eyebrow in Peter’s direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt can feel Peter tense. He knows the man isn’t Catholic; he probably doesn't know how he’s supposed to act, so Matt responds quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I did. Sister Maggie, this is Peter. Peter, this is Sister Maggie. She’s been with Clinton Church since just after I was born.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no malice in his voice, but he can feel her tense anyway. He continues quickly, not wishing to insult or distress her. “Sister Maggie has done a lot to help me out in some of my darkest times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always so dramatic, Matthew,” she mutters, but Matt can hear the fondness in her voice. “Have you noticed that, Peter? Or does he continue to hide his drama from his friends?” The implication is obvious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, ma’am,” Peter says with a grin. “There isn’t much Matt can hide from me, and he’s definitely a drama queen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Interesting.” Sister Maggie is smiling now too. “Tell me, Peter. Are you Catholic?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No ma’am. I’m sorry, I wasn’t raised...” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She brushes his protests aside casually. “Don’t worry yourself. I was just curious. Regardless, you don’t have to call me ma’am. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sister </span>
  </em>
  <span>is the appropriate honorarium, but truthfully…” her eyes dart from Peter to Matt, “...I think I’d prefer if you just called me Maggie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt feels like he’s glowing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re two blocks away, headed back to Matt’s apartment when Peter stops dead in his tracks. He turns to face Matt, his heart pounding. “Maggie,” he says after taking a stuttering breath. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sister Maggie. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She’s your mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, she’s my mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“YOU COULD HAVE WARNED ME!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt steps in close, feeling Peter’s warmth, hearing the sound of fat, wet snowflakes falling around them. “I didn’t want to make you nervous. And you were perfect; I promise. She loved you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still,” Peter says quietly as he wraps his arms around Matt’s waist. “It’s just polite to warn someone before you take them home to meet your mom.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter knows what he wants to do the moment he puts two and two together on Christmas Eve, but it takes him a lot longer to figure out how to ask Matt. It’s not that he thinks Matt will say no, exactly. In fact, he has absolutely no doubts that Matt will say yes. That’s part of the problem. It’s a big thing to ask, especially to ask someone who almost never leaves the city, and he doesn’t want Matt to feel like he </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>to say yes. He wants Matt to say yes, though. He wants it desperately, and he knows that desperation will come through in any request he makes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>New Years passes, frigidly cold, and Matt tells Peter details about the tourists in Time Square. Their lips brush together at midnight, chaste and full of promise. Then Matt leads Peter into his bedroom and makes good on that promise, and they spend the first two hours of the new year locked together, limbs tangled in a mess of sweat and other bodily fluids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>January is cold and grey, and they spend dreary evenings listening to podcasts and books on tape.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valentines Day rolls around, and Peter has a dozen paper roses delivered to Matt’s work, afraid that the real ones might smell too strongly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>February turns to March, and Peter knows he doesn’t have much time. If he’s going to ask, he needs to do it now so they can plans. To give Matt time to prepare. Still, he stalls, unsure of how or when to even bring it up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Easter that makes him realize he doesn’t have a choice. It makes him realize that he needs this, and he needs Matt by his side. Peter of course says yes when Matt asks him to go to church with him on Easter Sunday, although he certainly hadn’t expected quite an early service. Sunrise is only meant to be seen, in his opinion, if you haven’t yet gone to bed. It should never be experienced because that’s how early you’ve woken up. Still, he dresses in the nicest clothes he owns and walks proudly by Matt’s side as they enter the church. The service is lovely and any complaints about the early hour are quickly forgotten when Sister Maggie accepts the bouquet of daisies he brought her with a beaming smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he waits two more days before he works up the nerve to actually say something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt is waiting with a beer in each hand and is reclined casually against the wall when Peter walks through the door to his apartment and, while he rationally knows how Matt’s enhancements work, it’s still always a bit strange to remember that the man literally knew he was coming when he was still several blocks away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For me? Thanks babe, you shouldn’t have,” Peter says, taking both beers out of Matt’s hands and taking a drink from each. “But I’m trying to cut back so maybe you should have one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ass,” Matt mutters with a grin, grabbing one of the beers back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You love my ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmmmm…” Matt hums noncommittally. “I’m not sure I remember. Maybe you should remind me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well played, sir.” Peter holds his beer up, and Matt clinks his own against it. “How did your case go today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We won. But you already knew that.” Matt takes his hand and they sit down on his couch together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, reading my mind makes it more difficult for me to make small talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t read your mind, and small talk is overrated.” Matt takes a drink of his beer. “But really, how did you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I asked Karen to keep me updated. She told me that, after this one, you’d have a bit of a break. That your next several cases are all, and I’m quoting here so please punch Karen and not me, “Boring, inconsequential shit that does not require the expertise of the great and powerful Matt Murdock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt laughs. “Your Karen impression is getting much better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks. I plan on pulling it out at the next dinner party.” Peter pauses and takes a long pull on the beer in his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been anxious since Easter,” Matt says, reaching out to take Peter’s hand in his own. “Is it about the key? If it’s too much, you don’t have to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No,” Peter interrupts. Matt had given him a key after they’d taken his mom out to a late Breakfast Easter morning and, yeah ok, maybe that did make Peter feel a bit nervous - afraid that Matt was going to wake up and realize that Peter wasn’t worth any of this - but he certainly doesn't want Matt to think that’s what’s stressing him out. “It’s not that at all. There’s something I wanted to ask you.” He pulls Matt to the couch and together they sit down. “I was wondering, maybe, if you wanted to go on a road trip with me. I um… I have some time off coming up at the bar, and I had this idea for something we could do. Obviously if you don’t think we should, or if you can’t get away… I mean, Karen knows what your lawyer schedule is like, but she wasn’t willing to comment on your other schedule, and I didn’t think you’d like me bothering the rest of Team Red...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt smiles at the nickname, and Peter momentarily imagines himself walking up to Spider-Man on the street all casual and announcing that Daredevil is his boyfriend. He likes the sound of the word in his head more than he’d expected to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What were you thinking?” Matt asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want...” Peter takes a deep breath. “I want to go home, and I was hoping you’d come with me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt cocks his head to the side, listening. “To Spartax?” He asks, confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. To Missouri.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Matt looks surprised. “I… would we fly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter shakes his head. “I know flying is a challenge for you. I thought, if you wanted to… and only if you wanted to… you should feel free to say no. Anyway, I thought maybe we could drive. Clint just bought a camper and he asked if I could drive it up to his place out there. We could upgrade his mattress, throw on some silk sheets, and drive west? I would drive the whole time… Of course I would drive the whole time. What a stupid thing to say. Fuck, Matty. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt pats his hand reassuringly. “It’s ok. Yes, you should definitely drive the whole time. So you drive us to Missouri and back. That’s a long drive!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s about 15 hours nonstop. Pepper said she could recommend a few hotels for the way back. And we could take our time on the way out, spend some time camping, go to all the tourist traps! I did some research. There’s a big pile of boulders left behind by a glacier, and the Mascot Hall of Fame, and an ice cream shop shaped like an ice cream cone. If we wanted, we could even take a little detour and go to the future birthplace of James T. Kirk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The birthplace of James T. Kirk?” Matt laughs. “If that’s real, then I’m definitely sold. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but roguish, ruggedly handsome spaceship captains are kind of my thing. In fact, you should probably be concerned…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well he won’t be born for another 200 or so years, so I think I’m safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Disappointing.” Matt grins at him. “I’ve heard his abs are almost as good as yours. Anyway, I’m in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt shrugs. “Is there some reason I shouldn’t?” Like you said, I don’t have any big cases coming up at work, and the streets have been dead recently. It sounds like the perfect time for an adventure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter grabs him around the waist, hugging him so hard he lifts him right off the ground. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Matt. It’s going to be great; I promise. We’re going to have the best time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt leans forward the moment his feet are back on the ground, pressing his lips to Peter’s. It’s heated in a way Peter doesn’t expect, and he finds himself unable to resist rucking up the back of Matt’s soft, black t-shirt and sliding his hands over the warm skin underneath. “I always have the best time when I’m with you.” Matt’s voice is so quiet that Peter almost misses it, lost - as he already is - to the sensation of Matt’s mouth trailing across his jaw down his neck. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just some casual, domestic StarDevil for your Saturday morning (or whenever this finds you). Hope all is well and everyone is staying healthy out there! </p><p>Inspirational art is, as always, by <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/murdockquills">Murdockquills</a></p><p> </p><p>  </p><p>[ID: Shirtless Matt Murdock and Peter Quill exercising. Matt is doing sit ups. Peter is either holding a plank or at the top of a push-up. His hands are on Matt's feet, holding them in place. They've met at the top of Matt's sit-up, and are kissing. Matt has cuts in various stages of healing on his back and arms, and a gash at his temple has been taped shut to heal.]</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Everyone You Know</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 12</b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Do you realize that you have the most beautiful face</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Do you realize we're floating in space,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Do you realize that happiness makes you cry</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Do you realize that everyone you know someday will die</span>
  </em>
</p><p><em><span>And instead of saying all of your goodbyes, let them know</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>You realize that life goes fast</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>It's hard to make the good things last</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em><em><span>You realize the sun doesn't go down</span></em><em></em><span><br/>
</span><em><span>It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round</span></em><em></em><span><br/>
</span> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/2DFRFqWNahKtFD112H2iEZ?si=MGxi2bofTUSb63DzRUON6Q"><span>Do You Realize: The Flaming Lips</span></a></p><p>
  <span>They leave two days later. The trailer definitely isn’t what Peter was expecting. He was envisioning some ratty, pop-up thing, but this is sleek and shiny, all silver, looking like something straight out of a 1950s science fiction movie. Renting a truck to pull the thing isn’t what he expected either… although it probably should have occurred to him that neither he nor Matt having a valid driver’s license might cause some concern on the part of the rental company. But, after many phone calls to Clint and one final call to Pepper, a large man in a black suit and tie drives a very large, very shiny pick-up truck into the alley behind Clint’s building. He parks it next to the trailer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” the man says, leaving the truck running and shoving an envelope into Peter’s hand. Peter peeks in and sees an ID card of some sort, and he marvels at Pepper’s ability to get him a driver’s license without any sort of test. “Try to bring it back in one piece.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you… Can you help me hook up the trailer?” Peter asks hesitantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s definitely not my job.” The man stares at Matt, who has a hand on the hood of the truck. He’s faced away from them, an ear pointed towards the truck and the back of his head towards Peter and the man. “I’m sure the two of you can handle it. What is he…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does this have a Hemi V8?” Matt asks without turning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It does,” the man replies, half a question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beautiful,” Matt sighs. His fingers dance up across the door frame, then down the small seam to settle on the handle. He opens the door, leans his head in, and breathes deeply. “Leather seats, of course,” he says with a smile, turning to face Peter them, and Peter notices the man next to him stiffen slightly when he realizes Matt is blind. “Is it red? I bet it’s red.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is,” the man says warily. “How did you…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re Happy Hogan,” Matt says, holding out his hand. “Matthew Murdock. I’m an attorney in Hell’s Kitchen… just to make it easier on you when you look me up later, which I know you will. I recognized your voice from all of Stark’s press conferences. And about the red… I just assumed that old habits die hard. It’s a Ram, right? The 1500…” he hesitates “...Longhorn, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Happy smiled at him, taking his hand and shaking it. “It’s the Limited, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt whistles low and appreciatively, and Peter tries to avoid smirking at the deception.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You a car guy, Mr. Murdock?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am, actually,” Matt replies with a grin. “Ever since I was a kid. I’ve never heard a truck quite this nice, though. Please thank Mrs. Stark for me personally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will.” Happy pauses, and Peter can see that something in him has softened. “Alright, I suppose I can help you get this thing set up, if only to be sure nobody scratches anything.” He looks between the truck and the trailer. “I’ll back her in closer. Peter, can you guide me in? Matt, you want to hop on up and I can help you learn where all the different controls are?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’d love that. Thanks!” Matt says, opening the door and stepping up into the truck. He throws Peter a wink over his glasses as Happy moves around to the driver’s side, and then he shuts his door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re on the road a few hours later. The first few minutes are a bit nerve wracking… Peter hasn’t driven a car since he was twenty… but he settles fairly quickly. Honestly, if he can navigate the Bowie through an asteroid belt, he can handle New York City traffic on a Sunday afternoon, Airstream trailer be damned! At least here, nobody is firing at them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They take the long way to start… driving across the Brooklyn Bridge “because that’s just what you do, Matty!!” When Matt admits that he’s pretty sure he’s never even been on the Brooklyn Bridge, Peter immediately finds a structure and bribes the attendant generously to let them park in the turn-around, because the camper doesn’t fit through the entrance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s an unseasonably warm day, and they take over two hours walking from one end of the bridge to the other, and back again, getting ice cream on both sides. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was ridiculous,” Matt says, wiping his hands carefully on a napkin before climbing back up into the truck. “Now we’re going to be running late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what?” Peter counters, starting up the truck. “We’ve got nowhere to be. Hell, there’s an RV park in Jersey City. We can be there in less than an hour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Matt snorts. “We are not staying in New Jersey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just saying, we’ve got options, babe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They end up stopping at a campground in the Poconos, and when Matt complains that they’ve only been driving for three hours, Peter can tell that he doesn’t really mean it. The campground is basically empty - it’s too cold to go swimming in the small, clear lake that he assumes is its main appeal, but it’s beautiful and peaceful, and Matt describes the various birds and animals he can hear around them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter is a bit surprised when Matt suggests that they go for a hike on one of the many trails, and even more surprised when the man takes off running, jumping from boulder to fallen tree trunk with the ease and grace of Daredevil jumping from rooftop to rooftop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bet you can’t catch me!” Matt shouts, and Peter runs after him. Matt is faster and lighter on his feet, but he’s being fancy, sometimes veering well off the path to jump from object to object, once jumping up to swing up onto a low hanging branch, flipping himself into the canopy. When they reach a small clearing, Peter dives, grabbing Matt around his calves and bringing both of them falling to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I caught you,” he says, panting slightly from the exertion. “What’s my prize?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything you want."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything?” Peter works his way up Matt’s body until he can nuzzle at his groin with his nose. “Anybody around?” He asks quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt listens for a moment before replying. “Nope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They break camp late the next morning, and Matt is starting to realize that he could get used to this… nowhere to be, no schedules to keep. The previous night, Peter had built a fire and they’d grilled dinner over it. Then they just sat for hours doing nothing - hardly even speaking. Peter had stared up at the stars, and Matt had focused in on the fire, tracking each flicker of heat as it moved across and through the hardwood logs they had purchased at a nearby gas station. The night was cold, but the fire and the whiskey that they drank kept them warm and, when they climbed into bed, Matt found that he fell asleep easily despite the small and somewhat lumpy mattress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They wake up leisurely, free from alarms, and Matt boils water on the small stove inside the trailer and uses it to make coffee while Peter cooks a breakfast of sausage, eggs, and potatoes over the campfire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That day, they end at Cuyahoga Valley National Park in Ohio, arriving close to dusk after their drive is delayed by many stops at antique shops and candy stores along the way. Matt learns that Peter has a sweet tooth and manages to get a variety of treats from different shops while he isn’t paying attention. That night, in bed, Matt blindfolds him and feeds him small bites one at a time, listening to his heart spike sharply with pleasure as each new flavor bursts across his tongue.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day they drive straight through for longer than any other day before, with little to distract them between Ohio and Iowa. Peter suggests detouring up to Chicago and staying in a fancy hotel for a night, but Matt declines. They’ve got Peter’s space-wipes, so neither of them needs a shower, and he’s liked waking up pressed tight against Peter in the too small bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They arrive at the campsite just outside Riverside, Iowa, at nearly 10 pm, legs cramped from having sat for so long. Matt uses the opportunity of Peter making a fire to focus his senses inward, identifying each ache and pain in his legs and back and carefully stretching out the muscles. He rolls his neck and shoulders, relishing each pop and the relief it brings, then reaches his arms up over his head and stretches his sides and back. He can feel the cold night air on the skin of his lower back as he bends forward, folding at the waist and stretching out his hamstrings, before stepping back into a lunge, pivoting into a wide legged fold, and then lunging on the other side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It isn’t until he comes out of the fold that he feels Peter’s eyes on him. Before Matt can move, Peter is crowding him up against the trailer, the heat of his body in stark contrast to the cold metal of the Airstream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?” Matt asks, trying to maintain his cool as Peter grinds down against him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Goddamnit, Matt, yes. Do you even know what you do to me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Language.” Matt manages to gasp the word out before Peter’s lips are over his, swallowing down his noises and filling his senses with his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They head into the city in the morning, and Matt is definitely using that term loosely! Breakfast is t at Murphy’s Bar and Grill, a fairly standard diner (and ok, they’re snobs from New York. So sue them). Peter tells Matt that there’s a sign hanging over the pool table which reads “James T. Kirk was conceived here.” It’s very tacky, but it’s also charming and the pancakes are amazing. From there, they visit a plaque that declares Riverside, Iowa, as the birthplace of Captain Kirk, a bronze statue of the Captain, and the ‘Voyage Home Museum.’ It’s all cheesy, and it takes Matt a moment to realize that the reason they’re still there is that Peter is stalling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Matt says, pulling Peter close to him when he suggests that they head back to the Bar for a late lunch. “Shouldn’t we be going? I know there’s no schedule but… we have four hours of driving left. Don’t you want to get to St. Charles before nightfall?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter mumbled something that Matt knew wasn’t words as he stared at his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to talk about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter shook his head no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. Do you want to eat at the shitty bar again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he mumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then,” Matt grabbed his hand and pulled him back towards the truck. “Let’s go get the trailer and get out of here, my big, strong, rugged captain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked a few steps and then stopped, Peter pulling Matt into his arms this time. “I don’t deserve you,” he said softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’ve got that backwards, buddy,” Matt answers, pressing a soft kiss to the outside corner of Peter’s lips. “Now come on. Let’s get out of here before we grow pointy ears.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trip to St. Charles takes longer than it should; Peter drives just below the speed limit the whole time. Still, it’s just about dinner time when they arrive. The campground they stay at is much more open than the previous one, and the few other campers and RVs are all close on the same parking slab, but it’s a clean space and Matt is ok missing out with a fire for one night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They disconnect the camper and Peter drives them into the city for dinner. It’s a pleasant little suburb; all ranch houses and cul de sacs, and they find a quaint restaurant with a nice beer selection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt can tell Peter is nervous, but he doesn’t push. Obviously there is something the man wants to ask, but Matt knows he will get there on his own eventually. Instead, he lets dinner flow by in comfortable silence, his foot pressed up against Peter’s, a reminder that he is there to support. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you go to church with me tomorrow?” Peter asks, after the waitress has taken their check.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Matt says, surprised. Of all the things he considered could be stressing Peter out, it wasn’t that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It won’t be a Catholic service,” he goes on to explain. “My family… my mom’s family… they were Methodists. I understand if you don’t want…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s all the same God,” Matt says softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter nods. They stand up and walk out of the restaurant, back to the truck, but when Peter turns it on and doesn’t drive anywhere, Matt puts his hand over Peter’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you need?” Matt asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure,” Peter admits. “I’m not ready to go back to the trailer. There isn’t anything to do there but go to sleep and I’m not sure how well I’m going to sleep tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would you do if you were a kid?” Matt asks with a soft smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you were a teenager? If we were just normal kids and you wanted to show me a good time, where would we go? What would we do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter smiles at that. “There never was much to do. We’d drive around, probably. Get out of town, find a field. See how good this thing does off road? Maybe just lay out in the bed and stare up at the stars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then that’s what I want,” Matt says, definitive. “Let me into that part of your life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure? It’s not thrilling. Gravel roads and all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want it,” Matt confirms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They drive, windows open, cool night air blowing in. Matt lays his head back against the headrest and lets the sensations roll over him - the music coming through the speakers is from a radio station that is just slightly out of range. The fields have been recently turned over in preparation for planting, and the air smells like earth and composted manure. The road is gravel, bumpy under even the finely tuned suspension of the expensive truck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter is quiet for almost an hour, and then he starts to speak. He points out landmarks. The road he learned to drive on, the house his mother always loved, the field he lost his virginity in. Matt smiles. They’re not moving fast, but it’s still difficult for him to get a clear picture of what’s outside the truck. It doesn’t matter, though, and he knows that. It’s the stories that matter, and the people who belonged to those stories. When they get back to the campground, Matt wraps Peter in his arms and kisses him softly, slowly, without intent or desire to deepen it. They climb into the trailer and collapse on the bed without undressing, and Matt rubs circles along Peter’s spine until he drifts to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They go to church in the morning, both of them a bit more rumpled and bleary eyed than Matt would prefer. He’s not sure exactly what he expects when the minister approaches them, but it isn’t to be lead out through the back doors into a small cemetery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know the way?” The minister asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter just nods his assent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ground is rough but the cemetery is tidy, short rows of modest tombstones, and when they reach one near the back and stop, Matt doesn’t need to touch the slab to know what it says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re supposed to warn someone,” he says sadly. “Before you bring them home to meet your mom. I would have brought flowers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She never really liked flowers,” Peter said, fingers reaching out to intertwine with Matt’s. “Not picked ones, anyway. She said they belonged in the ground where they could thrive. She loved the stars, though. We would lay up on the roof and stare at them for hours. She always told me that was where I belonged.” Peter’s voice breaks, and Matt can taste the salt of his tears. “I always wonder if she’d be proud of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course she would! Peter, she loved you, and you’re a good man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She…” Peter is openly crying now. “She was so good. So kind. And I… I’m selfish Matt. I don’t think I know how to be a good person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sister Maggie…” Matt stops, blinks back his own tears, starts over. “My mother told me that people don’t just bring their troubles to her, they bring their answers too, if she listens long enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter wipes his eyes. “I’m not sure I understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just mean… I don’t know how to help you, Peter. I wish I did, but I don’t. But I’m here, and I’m really good at listening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re good people, Matt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And so are you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know that? How can you be sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt smiles at him. “I have faith.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay at the church a bit longer, then head back to the trailer. “Should we stay another day?” Matt asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No reason to,” Peter answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t always need a reason,” Matt offers up, but Peter is already hooking the trailer up to the truck, and soon they are on their way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Barton farm is about four hours away, and they arrive right at dinner time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quill!” Clint calls out from where he’s laying down place settings at a picnic table. “Laura, Peter is here with the trailer. Have Cooper send out two more place settings!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey man,” Peter walks up to Clint and gives him a brief hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How was the trip out? Did the trailer give you any troubles?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s great,” Quill says with a smile. “We broke her in for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gross.” Peter turns to Matt, and Matt can feel him giving a once over. “I know you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t think we’ve ever…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look super familiar, and I'm known for my powers of observation. Hey!” He turns to Peter. “I thought you were with Daredev…” he trails off, eyes going wide and turning back to Matt. “Oh. Shit. What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you're suggesting is clearly ridiculous,” Matt says, adjusting his glasses on his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Clint agrees, still staring at him. “Obviously ridiculous.” He turns back to Peter. “Will you stay for dinner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we can,” Peter says with a smile. “And maybe one more night in the trailer? We can head out first thing in the morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay as long as you want. There’s no rush,” Clint replies. He eyes up Matt again. “You really blind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh.” He considers Matt for a moment. “You want to shoot some arrows after dinner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt grins. “Yeah. I’d like that a lot.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ride home is a different kind of wonderfult, taking only two days as opposed to the five it took them to get out there. They spend the night at a luxury hotel in Pittsburgh, and make it back to Hell’s Kitchen before dinner the next night. Peter falls asleep in his arms, sweaty and boneless and sated, and Matt doesn’t have the energy or the desire to deny what he’s feeling anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” he whispers to the gentle rhythm of Peter’s deep breaths. “I believe it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing changes after that, and yet somehow everything changes. Peter still lives and works in Brooklyn, and they don’t spend any more nights together than they did before, yet every touch is more meaningful. Each night seems to mean more. Matt talks to Peter about his patrols - not just what happened, but his doubts and his concerns. Peter talks to Matt about his struggles on Spartex - the way he tried to be everything to everyone and how it pushed his friends away. They listen, offer help when they can, hold each other when they can’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything is perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until, of course, it isn’t.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Matt and Peter on the Brooklyn Bridge, as created by <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/murdockquills">@Murdockquills</a></p><p> </p><p>  </p><p> </p><p>[ID: Matt and Peter walking on the Brooklyn Bridge. Peter is wearing a burgundy shirt that reads "Guardians," and has the Guardians logo on it in yellow. Matt is wearing a white shirt with the words "I'm Not Daredevil" written on it in red. Peter has one arm around Matt's shoulders, holding him close, and he's holding Matt's hands with the other. Matt's knuckles are bandaged. Both men are smiling.]</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Fuck Around and Get Handled</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Still tastin' metal</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>It lingers on my lips</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I let it haunt me</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>So I don't ever forget</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>All of the battles</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I'ma walk through the fire and the shadows, yeah, yeah</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck around and get handled, yeah</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>'Cause I'm not going back to</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p><em><span>Screaming in my sleep like every night</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>Keep running out my way, I can see the light</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>Got a hundred miles left and I'm feeling like</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>I might stay alive</span></em><em></em><span><br/></span> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/6fms5kl4bMzFb5njTuH69K?si=bwJq-BfdSwqZAmonsaCCKA"><span>Invisible Chains: Lauren Jauregui</span></a></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The good news is that Matt is already in Bed-Stuy when he feels it. If he hadn’t been… He doesn’t want to think about what might have happened if he hadn’t been.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The roar of the motorcycle is loud, and Matt can feel it in his chest, but that isn’t the first thing he notices.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What he notices first are the flames.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t been able to place the sensation back on Knowhere. He’d been too stunned by stumbling upon Frank Castle when he was in fucking outer space to stop and think about what he was feeling and why it was so completely and utterly familiar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Frank had a motorcycle that flew and shot flames out of the back.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All things considered, it probably wasn’t even the most outrageous thing that had happened to him that year. He was, after all, a blind vigilante who teamed up with, depending on the day, one or more of the following: an alcoholic, rage filled science experiment gone wrong; an unbreakable, ex-convict science experiment gone wrong, two mystical warriors with glowing fists, one of whom had literally punched a dragon; a teenaged mutate who could stick to walls; and said teenager’s mercenary mutant boyfriend who didn’t age, die, or - as far as Matt could tell - have an internal monologue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So yeah… he was used to dealing with some shit.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And you could go to any carnival and see the stunt riders, jumping over monster trucks, flames shooting from the back of their bike. His dad had taken him to one of those things as a kid. It had been cheesy and too loud and it had smelled bad. And he hadn’t even had enhanced senses then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So it’s not the flames themselves that really get Matt’s attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s the way those flames feel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re hot, obviously, but they’re cold too. Like when the water heater at Matt’s apartment is on the fritz, and the temperature goes from regular to frigid to scalding in the blink of an eye. Like jumping out of a hot-tub and rolling in the snow. Like… <em>no</em>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not like any of those things because, no matter how quickly, those are still a transition. Those move from hot to cold. This is both at the same time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Matt knows exactly what it’s like.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter had called it Hellfire, and of course it was. What else could it be? And Matt… Matt had felt it before. He’d felt it that day when he’d jumped in front of a speeding truck and pushed a blind man out of his path. He’d felt it as he lay helplessly on the street, the crowds gathering around him, his father looming over him. He’d felt it as the chemicals had covered his body, seeped into his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he truly had a devil inside of him, that was the moment it had entered. That was the moment that determined who he would be for the rest of his life. That was the moment he had changed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he had felt it, burning hot on his skin, colder than ice in his veins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t bring the suit with, obviously. He hadn’t intended to go out fighting. Daredevil didn’t hang out in Brooklyn, after all. But he’s wearing a pair of black pants and a black compression shirt and honestly it feels just like old times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a basket of laundry on the floor, and Matt pulls out a clean sheet and uses his teeth to rip off a thick strip. He says a small prayer that it isn’t a ridiculous color as he ties it around the top half of his face, then he’s out the window and down the fire-escape before he has time to think. All he knows, all he’s focused on, is the fact that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>has to get to Peter.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One thing about being blind that people might not stop to think about is how it turns sight-lines meaningless. Once he’s close enough to the bar that he can focus his senses on it, everything else fades away. Walls, buildings, the distance separating them… all gone. He is aware enough of what’s around him enough to not run into anything, but he can sense everything that is going on at the Bar Without A Name just as well as he could if he were there instead of five… now four blocks away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank lands his motorcycle in the alley, and the flames around his head die down along with the flames on the bike. He walks up to the door and knocks. The metal plate covering the long, narrow peephole slides open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Three blocks.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Password?” The man behind the door asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank kicks the solid steel door off of its hinges. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt can’t move any faster. He tries anyway, shoving pedestrians and vaulting over slow moving cars.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need to talk to Peter Quill,” Frank says, once he’s inside the bar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about?” A man asks, and Matt’s feet falter for just a second. He knows that voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Melvin, </span>
  </em>
  <span>his mind supplies. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Melvin Potter. I thought he was in prison. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t see how that’s any of your business,” Frank responds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah well… Quill’s an ok guy, alright? He mixes a good drink, is all. I don’t think any of us,” Melvin looks around anxiously, “is interested in anything bad happenin’ to him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There are a few murmurs of agreement from the other bar patrons.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Two blocks.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank is fast. He’s so much faster than Melvin and, before Melvin has a second to react, Frank has him by his neck.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Put the guy down, Frank,” Peter says, stepping up out of the basement carrying three cases of beer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn it, Peter, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Matt thinks, as he vaults over a dumpster and dashes between two delivery trucks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You couldn’t have stayed hidden for five more minutes? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank does as Peter asks and Melvin falls to the floor, desperately gasping in a sputtering breath. “Oh, so it’s Frank now, is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well we have a mutual friend,” Peter says with a smirk. “He told me all about your tragic backstory. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Rider </span>
  </em>
  <span>never really rolled off the tongue anyway. What can I do for you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have something that belongs to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I?” Peter smiles from behind the bar, wiping down a glass and holding it up to check for water marks. “I think I have something that belongs to neither of us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Peter is so casual that Matt can hardly stand it. It’s like he’s used to serial killers and sociopaths walking into his bar every day which… Matt scans the room and recognizes both Wilbur Day and a guy he thinks might be Leland’s kid, so maybe he is used to it, but that’s beside the point!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Also, one block.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter is good in a fight. He’s fast and he’s strong. There’s no wasted energy when he lunges at Frank and, for all that Matt wants to scream at him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>stay behind the fucking bar</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he knows that’s the right move. You can’t stay on the defensive with Frank. If you don’t take your chance when you see the opportunity, there wont be another. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter gets in a few good hits - a jab to the left pectoral, followed by a hook to the jaw and a roundhouse to the back of Frank’s left leg that drops him to one knee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It isn’t until Frank is laughing while he stands back up that Matt realizes he isn’t hurt, just surprised. He thinks Peter realizes at the same time, too, and he takes a hasty step backwards.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve been training with your boy,” Frank says, spitting blood on the ground. “You move like him now. That’s a compliment, by the way. Now give me the Vortex before I lay you out like I laid him out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Peter holds his ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It needs to be destroyed. You’re not strong enough to do that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It needs to be returned to Viscardi, where it belongs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’re going to take it there?” Frank snorts. “When? You’re too busy hanging out on Earth, tending bar and playing house.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen…” Peter takes a step forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's as if the next few moments move in slow motion. Matt hears the clink of each individual link as Frank unwinds the heavy chains from his torso. Matt feels the blast of cold heat spread across them and up into Frank's skull. He feels it all and yet, before there’s time to take a breath, Frank has flung the chains forward, wrapping them around Peter’s chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter screams.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt dives through the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is graceless, clawing and scratching more than anything that could be considered a real fight, and he knows that Stick and Elektra would both be disappointed in him, letting his passion overpower his training. Still, Matt’s unorthodox methods seem to take Frank by surprise and the chains unwind from Peter’s body as Matt drives his elbow into Frank’s fiery temple. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Matt,” Peter coughs out wetly. “Stop.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Matt doesn’t stop. He slams his fists into Frank’s flaming face again and again, smelling blood and singed skin and he doesn’t stop until he feels Peter’s arm around his waist, dragging him away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s the wrong move. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank sits up, and suddenly Matt is frozen in place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He calls it the Penance Stare.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least Matt has words to put to what he’s feeling as regret… remorse… shame… terror… anguish all wash over him. Peter had explained it to him as best he could while describing the new powers that Frank had picked up as The Rider. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He says it forces people to relive the feelings of their greatest sins - the pain they inflicted on others.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It sounded terrible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It feels a hell of a lot worse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pain of it drops him to his knees and takes away his breath. “Frank,” he gasps. “Please. Don’t do this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t want to, Red. But you leave me no choice.” Frank’s voice is distorted behind the flames. “I can’t let the Vortex stay in the wrong hands.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that… </span>
  <em>
    <span>If he had said it any other way,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Matt thinks. But no. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stay </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the wrong hands. His intent is crystal clear. He’s talking about Peter, implying that somehow Peter’s hands could be anything but right, and that… that Matt cannot abide. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lifts up his head, raises up one foot to plant it flat on the ground, still kneeling on the other, and gives the sign of the cross.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can feel something in Frank flicker.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Faith.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How…” Frank questions, and Matt can hardly hear it over the force of the Rider’s stare still assaulting his senses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think you’re showing me something new?” Matt says, taking a step towards Frank. “You think I don’t know who I am? What I’ve done? You think I don’t feel this every single day?” Another step forward. “You’re not taking the Vortex, and you’re not touching him.” Another step forward, and the two men are face to face now. Matt can feel the heat of Frank’s flaming skull scorching the tip of his nose. “You think you can suddenly beat me now because what? Because you’ve got a devil inside you?” He sets his jaw and juts out his chin. “Join the goddamned club, Frank.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank holds Matt in his stare and, for just a moment, Matt is sure he’s miscalculated. He feels like he’s being lit on fire from the inside, feels like he’s being drowned in a block of ice. It fills his brain and his lungs and his soul. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hail Mary,” he whispers, voice cracking with the effort. “Full of grace, the Lord is with thee.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank takes a step back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” Matt’s voice is a little stronger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank takes another step back. Matt can feel the burn lessen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” Matt drops back down to his knees, slowly, in control of his body this time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Red…” Frank’s voice is a growl. A warning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pray for us sinners. All of us, within this building and without, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is one more beat, and then the flames drop and Matt takes a deep breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t stop me,” Frank’s voice is a low rumble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How far are you willing to go to test that theory?” He might be on his knees, but the words are a threat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank stares at him, then barks out a laugh. “You’re a crazy fuckin’ bastard, Red. I’ll give you that. Fine. He can return the Vortex to Viscardi, but he leaves tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I leave tomorrow,” Peter says, moving to stand next to Matt. Before Frank can protest he adds, “I have plans for tonight.” Peter holds out his hand to Matt who takes it and allows himself to be helped to his feet. He steps forward, placing himself between Frank and Peter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You give me your word he won’t be hurt.” It’s a demand, not a request.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My word still means something to you?” The words are said with scorn, but Matt can hear the surprise behind them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. It does.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a long pause between them, then, “you’re a damned fool, Murdock.” Frank speaks quietly enough that nobody else in the bar would be able to hear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re probably right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank lets out a small, breathy snort. “Alright, he leaves tomorrow. And you have my word that I won’t interfere, unless he doesn’t follow through on the mission.” He turns and walks towards the exit. “And I hope we never cross paths again, Red,” he says, not bothering to turn back as he walks out the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The feeling is mutual, Frank.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bar is silent and still as they wait. Then a motorcycle engine roars to life, and everyone seems to take a collective breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone that is, except Matt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turns to Peter, and there must be something in his face because he can hear Peter’s heart rate spike. He blocks out the rest of the bar, focusing his senses down to Peter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His shirt is torn and he has burns along his torso and back. His heart is pounding, and Matt can smell the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. It’s addictive. He can’t help himself; he steps forward and drags his nose from Peter’s collarbone up his neck, breathing in deeply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus, D.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Language,” he murmurs, before biting down on Peter’s neck. “Fuck. You smell so fucking good right now. I need…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Peter interrupts. “Yeah, I need too. But...” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt hums, interrupting and uncaring, as he sucks a deep bruise into Peter’s skin. He knows it’s wrong. Knows Peter is hurt and that he shouldn’t be adding to that, but Peter was almost taken away from him and the need to claim what’s his is too strong. Matt can hear blood vessels popping under the surface of Peter’s skin and knows the mark will be a dark purple in the morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pushes the thought of </span>
  <em>
    <span>in the morning</span>
  </em>
  <span> somewhere down deep inside of him as he licks across the mark he just created.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“D…” Peter whimpers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, sweetheart?” He kisses across Peter’s jaw until their mouths meet, hard and demanding, and almost immediately he’s pressing his tongue to Peter’s lips, demanding entrance, which Peter gives without question. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Matt takes. He knows it. He’s doing nothing but taking as his tongue makes itself at home in the wet warmth of Peter’s mouth. He doing nothing but taking as his hands grip tightly on Peter’s hips, as he grinds slowly against Peter’s thigh. He’s doing nothing but taking as Peter whimpers, his breath turning harsh and ragged, and Matt swallows the sounds down - greedily - <em>his sounds</em> - to keep inside of him where they belong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“D…” Peter sounds like he’s begging. Matt likes it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” He reaches down and cups Peter through his pants, feeling the hardness, storing that away too. Hoarding it to remember later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t think about later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We gotta stop.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Matt murmurs, pulling their bodies closer together, moving his hand and slotting his leg between Peter’s thighs. He can feel Peter’s skin where his shirt is torn, and he can feel the heat radiating off of the burns - Peter should really get medical attention for those - and Matt cannot be bothered with any of it as meticulously catalogs the taste of every inch of Peter’s mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“D, we’ve got an audience,” Peter says, the next time Matt isn’t biting his lips, and that’s enough to get Matt to pull back a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right. The bar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This bar is closed,” Matt announces authoritatively. “You have one minute to get your asses out of here.” He doesn’t say or what. The ‘or what’ is obvious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is a mad scramble as everyone rushes out the door. “Mary,” Matt calls a little too harshly after one of the retreating forms. He takes a breath, tries to steady himself. “Can you give us a hand with this?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman turns and slinks back towards the bar. She watches Matt and Peter lift up the heavy, metal door, and then Matt feels the heat spring from her palms as she welds it back in place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks.” Matt tries to sound kind as the three of them walk towards the back exit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not a problem, sugar.” She looks between Matt and Peter as Peter locks up behind them. “And if he ever does you wrong, you know where to find me.” She plants a kiss on Matt’s cheek, then vanishes into the shadows, cackling to herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt can feel Peter gaping at him. “You and Typhoid Mary?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just once,” Matt admits sheepishly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter doesn’t say anything, but Matt can feel the judgement. It doesn’t matter. That’s another thing he can worry about later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tries not to think about later. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Somehow there are only two chapters left? I can't believe this is almost over already! </p>
<p>No art today, but definitely check out some of <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/murdockquillsl">@Murdockquills'</a> other art. It's all brilliant!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Amen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>No masters or kings when the ritual begins</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Only then I am human</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Only then I am clean</span>
  </em>
</p><p><em><span>Oh, oh, Amen, Amen, Amen</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/1CS7Sd1u5tWkstBhpssyjP?si=2lRiuCf6SqOUxy3mqUbaJw"><span>Take Me To Church: Hozier</span></a></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They should really talk about this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Rationally, Peter knows it. He knows as Matt guides him away from the bar, hand firm and possessive in the small of Peter’s back. He knows it as they walk quickly through the late night streets in silence, sticking to darkened paths and back alleys. He knows it when they stop in one of those alleys and Matt pins him against the wall, teeth immediately back to his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don't talk about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can feel Matt trying to regain control as he pulls his face out of Peter’s neck. Matt’s fingers twitch over Peter’s hips as he takes a deep breath, tilting his head to the side. “Your customers must really like you,” he says with a smile that’s more teeth than kindness, and he pulls the mask off of his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s so beautiful like this - nostrils flaring, dark hair mussed from the mask, hazel eyes wild and unfocused, and it takes Peter a moment to process that he’s spoken. “What makes you say that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt gestures with his right hand at the empty night, left hand not straying from where it’s holding on tight to Peter’s body. “We weren’t followed. I knew almost everyone in that bar, and more than a few of them would love to get their hands on Daredevil when he’s distracted, yet here we are. Nobody has tailed us. Nobody has tried to finish what Frank started. That’s out of respect to you, not me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt’s eyes go wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were terrifying tonight. You took on The Rider with literally nothing but a prayer. Those guys were scared shitless. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if you have a crime-free summer; everyone’ll be terrified that Daredevil will be coming after them, all dressed in black like some sort of avenging angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not an angel,” Matt protests, and something flickers briefly across his face. It takes Peter a moment to realize what he’s said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ll </span>
  </em>
  <span>have a crime free summer. Just you. As if Peter wasn’t planning on being there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if he wasn’t coming back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think about how much free time we’ll have,” Peter says, and he hates how unconvincing he sounds - even to his own ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Matt replies. There’s no emotion behind the word. He pulls Peter away from the building and they start walking again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Peter slides the key into the lock, he’s sure that the silence stretching between them is more than just Matt protecting his identity from any prying ears. The elevator is broken again, or more likely still, so they climb the stairs to Peter’s apartment.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They toe off their shoes and Matt’s got him pinned to the door the moment it’s locked behind them. “Not an angel,” he growls again, teeth against Peter’s throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Peter knows it. God, does he know it. “Please,” he groans, leaning his head back to give Matt better access to his neck. Peter feels like his entire body is on fire; Matt is solid against his chest, pinning his back to the door, trapping him as if there was anywhere in the world he would rather be. “Please,” he repeats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would you like, sweetheart?” Matt asks, taking the invitation and mouthing down Peter’s neck. He bites down on a tendon, and Peter doesn’t even try to contain his lustful moan. Let his neighbors complain about the noise all they want.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please.” It might be the only word he knows at this point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, ok sweetheart. I’ve got you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that… Peter had worried about that for a while - the way that Matt always gave him everything he wanted, even when he couldn’t articulate what exactly that was. He had worried that he was taking advantage of Matt’s super senses, that he wasn’t reciprocating, that he wasn’t being a good partner. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What do you want, Matt?” He’d asked one night, hoping to redirect the narrative. He was a team player. Sure, he certainly had his preferences - who didn’t - but he could step outside of his comfort zone if somebody he was with had a request. “Anything you want. Just tell me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Matt had kissed up his abs and over his pecs, flicking out his tongue over Peter’s nipple. “You want to know what I want?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, Matt. Please. I really do.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Alright, sweetheart. I’ll tell you.” Matt lifted up a little and reached out to grab Peter’s hand, bringing it to his lips and licking across the inside of Peter’s wrist. “You make this noise,” he leaned forward again, pressing chaste, closed mouth kisses across the bruises already forming on Peter’s collarbone, while the hand not supporting him on the bed floated down to hover over Peter’s cock. “Right before you come. Just a second before it’s too late to stop. It’s the smallest gasp, like… like you’re afraid it’s going to hurt. Like you’re not quite ready. Like you need to brace yourself before you fall over the edge.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter’s hips jerked up of their own accord, the need for friction, for contact, for anything more than the warmth of Matt’s hand - so close but not touching. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Matt moved his hand aside at the last minute, clamping down on Peter’s hip instead, holding him in place. “What I want… All I want. Is to hear you make that noise over, and over, and over again.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Peter fisted his hands in the sheets and bit down on the inside of his cheek, trying to keep from coming. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah,” Matt sighed, before returning his mouth to Peter’s nipple. “Yeah, that’s the one.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter doesn’t question it anymore. He trusts Matt to know what he wants even when he doesn't. He trusts Matt to give it to him. He trusts Matt to want it as much as he does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt slowly drops to his knees and Peter thinks - not for the first time - hell, not for the first time that night! - that it’s a move which can only develop that level of grace through practice and repetition. Peter smiles. It’s funny. There's a joke in there somewhere about Catholics and... And then the blood rushes out of his brain and down to his already hard dick and any thoughts on the irony of a move mastered in prayer being used now, for this, are erased by the feeling of Matt mouthing at the front of his pants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter groans and lets his head fall back against the door with a loud </span>
  <em>
    <span>clunk </span>
  </em>
  <span>as Matt’s nimble fingers unbutton his fly. “Please,” he whispers again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Matt agrees. “Anything you want.” He slides Peter’s pants over his hips and down his legs, helping him to step out one foot at a time. Peter combs his fingers through Matt’s hair, and Matt pushes up into the touch, his head rubbing up against Peter’s hand and his cheek rubbing up against Peter’s inner thigh. His stubble is rough and Peter whimpers slightly at the burn. Matt keeps rubbing until Peter makes the noise again, then he grins and lifts his face up towards Peter’s before stretching out his tongue and licking across Peter’s balls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter shivers. “Don’t tease,” he says, as he pulls his own shirt off over his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt bites down on Peter’s thigh, then licks over the bruise. “Yeah,” he agrees, voice very serious, kissing along the outside of Peter’s leg. “You’re right. No teasing. Not tonight.” Matt starts to stand, and then in one movement, before Peter has time to think, he’s being lifted up onto Matt’s shoulders in a fireman’s carry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter definitely does not squeal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt’s voice is triumphant when he speaks. “Do it again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was an involuntary noise, Matthew,” Peter protests, as Matt carries him up the stairs to the bedroom. “I can’t just do it on comma…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt brings the palm of his hand down hard on Peter’s ass, and Peter definitely does not squeal again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not Matthew. Not tonight. Not Matt either.” He tosses Peter onto the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“D?” Peter questions, even as he knows it’s right. The way Matt’s standing over him, the flex of his muscles, the set of his jaw. It’s just like their first night, except without the mask. Daredevil is offering to take care of him, and he’s powerless to say no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, you’re perfect,” Matt says in lieu of an answer. He climbs onto the bed, kissing up Peter’s legs and rubbing his cheek against the bare skin of Peter’s groin. Peter knows he’s smelling him, and it should be weird but it makes him feel hot and boneless and he can’t hold back the full body shudder that rolls through him when Matt doesn’t linger, instead planting a single kiss on the tip of Peter’s shaft before continuing to move upwards. His lips brush across one of the burns the Rider left across Peter’s chest, and Matt stills. “He hurt you. I let him hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t let him…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re mine to take care of. Mine.” Matt lifts his head and Peter can see his eyes are almost fully dilated. As used as Peter is to seeing no reaction in those sightless eyes, it’s an unnerving sight. “Do they hurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter shrugs. “Not as much as they probably should,” he answers truthfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should bandage them up,” Matt says, moving to stand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Peter surprises himself, wrapping his legs around Matt’s waist. “Please, D. Don’t stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not going to stop,” Matt clarifies. “I just need to be sure you’re ok.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter shakes his head violently. “I’m ok. I promise. I just need...” He trails off, releasing his grip on Matt’s body. “Don’t tease.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt crawls forward until they’re face to face. “No teasing,” he agrees again, before surging in to kiss Peter. It’s hard and wet and Peter doesn’t kiss back so much as he </span>
  <em>
    <span>surrenders </span>
  </em>
  <span>to it as Matt claims his mouth. Matt’s hips grind down, and Peter is reminded again that the man is fully clothed, draped over him in all black, while Peter can do nothing but writhe, naked, underneath him. “Here’s the thing, though.” Matt’s teeth are on his jaw again and his voice sounds absolutely wrecked. “What you think of as teasing is the main course for me. Besides,” he licks at a bruise he just bit into Peter’s jaw, “there are so many ways I can make you feel good. Just let me take care of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Peter… shit. He can’t resist that and he knows it. He goes limp under Matt’s body, and the answering growl from Matt’s lips is one of victory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets himself be guided up to sitting, then waits as patiently as possible while Matt goes to the bathroom and retrieves supplies - bandages and burn cream and antiseptic wipes. Matt's hands are strong and soft on Peter’s body as they clean and dress his burns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It should hurt. Rationally, Peter knows that it should, but he can’t bring himself to worry for even a second that it actually will, not when Matt’s hands are so strong, so gentle, so precise as they move across his body. Even after he’s fully bandaged, each hurt lovingly coated in ointment and covered with strips of white fabric, Matt’s hands don’t still. He works his way down, lovingly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>worshipingly, </span>
  </em>
  <span>mapping out every inch of Peter’s skin. When Matt reaches Peter’s waist, he helps him move until he’s lying on his stomach in bed, and then continues down, running his hands over the swell of Peter’s ass and down the backs of his legs. When he reaches Peter’s feet, he flips him over and then works his way up until they’re right back where they started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be naked,” Peter gasps out, as Matt’s hand wraps around his cock. He feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, flailing ineffectively at Matt’s clothes, pulling at the hem of his tight, black compression shirt. “Please.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt grins, sitting back on his heels before hooking his finger under the hem and pulling upwards, gracefully peeling the shirt off of himself like a snake shedding a second skin. The movement is slow and smooth and seductive, revealing miles of strong, creamy skin underneath, but Peter can’t wait any longer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sits up, wincing when the movement puts extra pressure on his already painfully hard cock, wraps an arm around Matt’s back, and flips them over. “Need you,” he demands, tearing at the fly of Matt’s pants, popping a button in his haste to get them off. “Jesus, D. I need you so fucking bad.” He tears Matt’s pants off of him, throwing them across the room. “You gotta know what you do to me.” He kisses across up Matt’s chest until they’re face-to-face again. “Please,” he says one final time, rolling his hips. “Please be inside of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their cocks slide together and this time it’s Matt who cries out, back arching up off the bed as he grabs on to Peter and flips them again, caging Peter between his strong arms as he ruts against him a few more times. Then he shifts, latching onto Pete’s nipple with his mouth as his hand finds its way between Peter’s legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter’s so far gone, he couldn’t even guess when Matt got lube. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there’s a finger at his hole and it’s slick and warm and when Matt presses it into his body it’s with the same intent, the same precision, the same worshipfulness that he had when he was bandaging Peter’s burns. He works his finger carefully in and out, stroking Peter’s walls, and when he presses a second finger in Peter almost wants to argue that it’s too soon - except it isn’t, and Matt knows his body better than he knows it himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So perfect, sweetheart,” Matt purrs into his skin. “You sound so good. Not sure how long I can wait. Need to feel you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that… that in itself is something new. Matt is always in control, never rushes, never compromises. The idea that he needs Peter so badly that he can’t wait almost sends Peter over the edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Matt whispers. “Keep making that noise.” Matt pulls out his fingers and moves between Peter’s legs, and it’s as if his entire body freezes. “I want…” The noise he makes is soft, as if he’s choking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter sits up slightly and drinks in the image before him - Matt kneeling between his thighs, one hand soft on Peter’s hip, the other gripping tightly around his own, bare cock. “Do it.” Peter exhales the words. “Do it. Please. I want to feel you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The noise Matt makes is formless, somewhere between a moan and cry, as he lines up and pushes into Peter’s body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not ready. Peter knows he’s not ready, and he knows Matt knows it too. But nothing Matt does with his body is unintentional. So when he drags one hand up Peter’s ribs and across his pecs, traces up the side of his neck and fists into his hair, Peter knows it is intentional. He offers no resistance when Matt uses the hand in his hair to guide his head to the side, before leaning forward and sucking what Peter hopes will be a dark bruise into the skin just below his collar bone. When Matt bumps their noses together and nips at Peter’s lower lip, Peter knows it's intentional. He lets his mouth fall open and Matt licks inside, tracing Peter’s teeth with his tongue as his hand maps the features of Peter’s face. And when Matt pushes in deeper, splitting Peter open to make room for himself, Peter knows that is intentional too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt Murdock coming undone is a revelation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve been here before, of course. It’s nothing new. Except it’s everything new and Peter can’t believe they haven’t been doing it like this the entire time. It had been on the table since Xandar. Before they left Xandar, they'd each had one final checkup from the medical staff to make sure they were ok. And Peter had suggested an extra round of tests, as long as they were there.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What could it hurt?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Matt had gone along with it - he’s gone along with everything Peter’s ever suggested. But he explained afterwards, with a bit of a blush that, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>of his skin is super sensitive, not just his hands, and that the extra layer helps him not get </span>
  <em>
    <span>too overstimulated, too quickly.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter can feel Matt trembling with it now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s subtle. He’s not showy or performative like so many lovers that Peter has been with, and it had taken Peter a few times to put it together that it’s because Matt has no idea what someone is supposed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>look </span>
  </em>
  <span>like during sex. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s quiet. Small gasps as he arches his back, hips working in short thrusts as he pulls out slightly, only to drive himself deeper, until he’s fully seated inside of Peter’s body. He hooks his hands under Peter’s legs, pulling them up and then pressing them down into Peter’s chest, folding him in half, finding more room to bury himself. His eyes slide shut as his mouth falls open in a silent shout, only to close again, biting down on his lower lip. His chest rises with each gasp. His forehead is dewy with sweat, and there’s a blush steadily climbing his chest and neck. He looks like he’s close to falling apart, and when he drops down to his elbows, forearms framing Peter’s head, Peter can see that he’s trembling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter,” Matt gasps, and Peter wraps an arm around Matt’s shoulders, holding tightly to the back of Matt’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got you, D. I’ve got you. Give it to me.” He knows that Matt can feel the sincerity in his words. Matt lets out a sound somewhere between a growl and a moan as their mouths meet, and then Peter is swallowing Matt’s cries as he comes. Matt stills against him, panting into Peter’s mouth as his cock pulses and twitches in Peters’s ass, filling him with his come, marking him, claiming Peter from the inside out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt slips a hand between them and it only takes a few pumps before Peter spills across their stomachs. Matt hisses when Peter clamps down around him, and Peter tightens the arm around Matt’s lower back, holding him close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay,” he whispers. “Want to keep all of you in me as long as I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt swallows hard, and Peter knows they’re both thinking about the inevitable, about the thing they’re not talking about. But that’s tomorrow’s problem. Tonight he just needs this.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So I wrote a prequel for this!! They are not related enough for me to feel like I should make a series, but if you want to check it out... <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26630083">Never Been Camping</a> introduces the start of this fic's Matt and Jessica. Enjoy!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. I Want to Love You Madly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>I don't want to hold back, I don't want to slip down</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I don't want to think back to the one thing that I know I should have done</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I don't want to doubt you, know everything about you</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I don't want to sit across the table from you wishing I could run</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p><em><span>I want to love madly</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>I want to love you now</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>I want to love you madly</span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><em><span>I want to love you, love you, love you madly</span></em><em></em><span><br/></span> <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/5jhfa76FhqtD3Boij6MAKS?si=bm4T43IiQL6j58BUnMfzfQ"><span>Love You Madly: Cake</span></a></p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, Matt. You should come out with us. It’s not like sitting home moping is going to get him to come back.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt sighs. Karen means well. He knows she does. And she’s not wrong, either. It’s just…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Give it a break, Karen,” Foggy says with a huff. “You know for a fact he’s not going to be sitting home moping.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Foggy isn’t wrong, either. Matt hasn’t even been trying to hide it for the past two months - the blood on his knuckles, the bags under his eyes. He’s a mess and he knows it. He wouldn't want him representing himself in court.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will,” Matt says, holding out a hand to stop Karen as soon as he felt her excitement to build. “One drink. </span>
  <em>
    <span>One.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And then I’ll go home and get a good night's sleep, ok?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that even a thing you know how to do?” Foggy asks with a wry grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ha!” Matt’s laugh is fake and accompanied by an eye-roll. “Very funny, asshole.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Foggy pats him on the shoulder as he walks past, grabbing his coat and scarf off the rack. “Speaking of assholes…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt and Karen both groan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Foggy, no…” Karen tries to interrupt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just saying, you’re always a lot happier after you’ve gotten laid. Come on, whatdayasay? It’ll be just like old times. I’ll set ‘em up and you can knock ‘em down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s gross, Foggy,” Karen says, rolling her eyes but still laughing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally </span>
  </em>
  <span>mean knock them down… I mean, well. I guess I do literally mean… You know what? It is gross and I’m sorry. But also you need to get laid. You’re not getting any younger, Matt Murdock!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt huffs out a sigh, smiling but regretting agreeing to go already. He loves his friends, he really does. It’s just… they don’t get it. From their perspective, exactly what they said would happen had happened. He’d fallen too deeply for someone who was unavailable, and that person had left him as they’d always known he would.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt had tried to explain, at first, how it was different. How </span>
  <em>
    <span>this time</span>
  </em>
  <span> things had been different. He’d tried. For the first month.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then a month turned to two.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then three.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then four.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took him longer than usual, but he figured it was probably time to admit that Peter wasn’t coming back. Even still, even after all this time, he still couldn’t believe it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He supposes that is what faith does to you. It makes you believe beyond reason. Beyond mounting evidence to the contrary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unbidden, his mind brings up the memory of that last morning, the feel of Peter’s skin under his body, the taste of it on his lips. The sound of his voice when he said… when Matt repeated the words back… <em>I lo...</em></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No. He can’t let himself think about it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re at the bar, and Matt is still nursing his first drink while Karen and Foggy are on their third. “You should get the next round,” Karen says with a giggle. She’s not drunk, but she’s not sober either, and when she leans in to talk to him, her long hair brushes against the top of his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?” Matt asks, knowing that he’ll be leaving as soon as this drink is done. He’s already stayed too long, but he promised his friends that he’d go home and sleep, and he hates breaking promises to them. “Why’s that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because there’s a fucking hot brunette at the bar and he’s definitely interested.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt laughs, cocks his head to the side, smells the air. “Yeah, that’s Bucky Barnes and I don’t want to get my ass kicked,” he says, shaking his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Karen turns her head quickly to stare. “How do you know that’s Bucky Barnes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can feel his arm. It’s vibranium. And quit staring. He already knows we’re talking about him. Enhanced hearing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both Karen and Foggy quickly snap their eyes back to the table. The three sit in silence for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So why aren’t you going out tonight,” Foggy asks, voice serious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you talking about? I’m out. Isn’t this out?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what I mean, Matt.” He drops his voice down to a whisper. “Why aren’t you going out tonight, as the other guy? And don’t say it’s because we’re worried about you; that’s never stopped you before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ouch, Fogs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s true tho.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt swirls his drink in its glass, listening to the sound of the ice melting. “Not tonight,” he finally answers, deciding the truth is too complicated. “Tonight your worry is my worry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Foggy snorts, and Matt drains his glass. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really. I’m tired. And don’t think that I didn’t hear Mrs. McCaffrey say she was worried I was on drugs. My looking like this is bad for business. I get that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karen lays a hand on his shoulder. She doesn’t believe him. “Just take care of yourself, ok Matt?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah, Karen. I absolutely will.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He does try. Truthfully, he does. But he can’t sleep and the night is calling to him, and when he hears a scream from six blocks away he takes it as a sign. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In retrospect, he probably should have ignored it and stayed home. The scream leads him to a mugging in progress, already being actively thwarted by Spider-Man and Deadpool. He stays with them for a while, sticking to rooftops and falling into the familiar banter, but it all becomes too much too quickly. Spider-Man and Deadpool… it’s obvious that they’re in love. It’s obvious in the way their gloved hands brush together when they think Daredevil isn’t looking (and really, how could they know that Daredevil is never looking). It’s obvious in the way that Spider-Man’s heart races when Deadpool speaks, and the way Deadpool’s heart pounds when Spider-Man carries him to a rooftop on his back. And Matt doesn’t want to begrudge them that. He likes both of them… Well… He likes Spider-Man anyway, and the kid deserves this. He knows the guy is young - probably 19 or 20 - and Matt understands the blind passion and lust that comes with youth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still. Being around it is too painful a reminder of what he had. What he lost. What he’s never been able to hold on to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he takes off on his own, which was his second mistake, because now he’s distracted, and Bullseye moves fast. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fight does not go well. He certainly can’t say that he won. Truthfully, the best he can say is that he got away... and even that just barely. He manages to pull off his boots at the top of the stairs. They’re caked in dirt and blood, but at least all of the blood is his own. He can wipe them in the morning. He tears off his mask as he stumbles down the stairs and through his living room, collapsing fully clothed into his bed. He’s usually very careful. He makes sure to never fall asleep in the suit, to always hide it away, to clean up any messes before he passes out. It’s too risky otherwise. Someone could break into his apartment. His landlord could use their key. Foggy would never bring anyone over unannounced, but he could. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The consequences of his being outed as Daredevil are too great, not just for him but for Foggy and Karen, too. So he’s vigilant. He’s cautious. Always.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He just… he needs to rest. The world is spinning and his ears are ringing and he can feel blood trickling down the side of his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should have stayed home like he promised. He’s so tired. He knows what he has to do, but if he can just rest… just for a moment…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wakes in a panic, unsure of what time it is or how exactly he made it home. What he does know is threefold:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s wearing the suit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s not wearing the mask.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is somebody in his apartment with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look like shit, D.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter?!” He jumps up out of the bed and the world starts to spin around him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, woah.” Peter’s arms are strong and warm around him, and he collapses into the embrace. “Of course it’s me who else would it be,” Peter asks, helping him to sit down onto the edge of the bed. “Unless,” he releases his grip and moves slightly away. “Unless it could be somebody else. I mean, I’ve been gone so much longer than I wanted to be. I shouldn’t expect…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!” Matt grabs Peter’s hand and yanks him forward, wrapping his legs around Peter’s waist and pulling him close. “There’s nobody else.” He finds Peter’s face with his hands and draws their lips together. “I missed you.” The words are muddled - lost to Peter’s mouth. “God, I missed you.” Matt shifts awkwardly, aggravating something along his ribs, and he winces. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter notices. “D? Matt… Babe? I’m gonna turn the lights on, ok?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt whines and squeezes his legs tighter around Peter’s waist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey. Shhh…” Peter runs a gentle hand through Matt’s hair. “I’m not going anywhere. I just want to see something, ok? It’s dark.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt releases the vice-grip around Peter’s waist slightly, whimpering as Peter steps away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter takes three steps, flips the light switch, and then gasps. “Matt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine.” Matt tries to stand but his legs feel shaky. He’s cold, too, and he wonders if the heat got turned off in his apartment again. “I look worse than I feel, I’m sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Matt, you’re bleeding,” Peter says, stepping back towards him. “Your sheets are soaked in blood.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re exaggerating,” Matt says, laying his hand across the pain on his side. “I got a cut. It’s no big…” He cuts himself off mid-sentence. His hand is hot and sticky. “Oh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Goddamn right, oh!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt wants to tell Peter to watch his language, but he can’t seem to find it in himself to be bothered, not when Peter’s hands are back on his body, finding the clasps and buckles in his suit and working them open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I?” Peter asks, even though he already is. “We don’t have to… I’m not trying… I just want to see the wound, ok?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt frowns at that. Why wouldn’t Peter be trying to… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s about to ask, but then Peter is peeling of the suit, running his hands along Matt’s arms and torso and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck! </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’s bruised and his ribs hurt but he’s missed those hands so much and he reaches out to Peter on instinct, desperate to pull him close. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Peter says, batting Matt’s hands away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fucking rude, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Matt can’t help but think.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You remember the last time, when I got hurt by the Rider?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt tries to scowl but he’s pretty sure it looks more like a pout. “Of course I remember.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You remember how you wouldn’t touch me until you got me bandaged up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Matt admits quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well this is just like that,” Peter says, hand ghosting over what Matt is starting to realize is a fairly sizable gash in the skin over his ribs. “Except, instead of just being hurt, you’ve also managed to turn your bed into a biohazard site. I want you all over me too, but I’m not getting in that bed until you and it are cleaned up, ok?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine.” Matt lets out a small, resigned sigh, then does his best to bat his eyelashes up at Peter. “We could move to the couch?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a menace!” Peter replies, but Matt can hear that he’s laughing too. “Can you get that thing the rest of the way off? I’ll go get some supplies.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Matt smiles at him. “Hey Peter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I missed you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I missed you too, babe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt listens to Peter moving through his apartment as he struggles to get the Daredevil suit the rest of the way off. He knows he’s not hurt that badly - the cut is mostly superficial - but it’s right over his ribcage and it’s bleeding a lot so stitches probably make the most sense. He tracks every movement Peter makes through the apartment, and feels a huge sense of relief wash over him when Peter isn’t gone long. When he returns after just a few minutes he has a bowl of warm water, two washcloths, two towels, a tube of Neosporin, a needle and a spool of thread, and a roll of bandages. He lays out one towel, then helps Matt to lay down on it. Carefully and gently, he wipes down Matt’s entire body, changing out the water several times. Once Matt is clean and dry, he covers the wounds in antiseptic cream, stitches up the cut on his ribs and another on his hand, and covers him in bandages. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Peter says quietly, “now come on.” He helps Matt out of bed, guiding him to the couch and lowering him to sit. “Can I get you something to drink?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Water would be nice,” Matt admits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He listens as Peter walks to the kitchen, fills the cup, returns. Matt holds out his hand, and Peter places the glass carefully into it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sheets still in the same place?” Peter asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt nods. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter moves into the bedroom, and Matt feels less anxious this time. He still listens as Peter travels through his space, but he’s less panicked. Peter sounds like he’s at home. He knows where everything is, and listening to him complete a simple, domestic task like changing the sheets is almost calming. When he’s done, he walks back out to Matt and holds out a hand, pulling him up off the couch. “Be careful, ok,” he says, holding Matt close. “I don’t want you to pull a stitch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt doesn’t respond. Instead, he appreciates the feel of Peter’s arm around his waist, guiding him back to the bed. He helps lower Matt in, then hesitates. “I don’t want to hurt you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m ok, Peter. I swear. It looked a lot worse than it was. You’ve got me all fixed up, I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt can hear something catch in Peter’s breath. “That’s good but… that’s not all I mean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt blinks up at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just… I was gone for a long time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Matt said softly. “Yeah, you were.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe you moved on?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe you should have?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey.” Matt reaches out for Peter, and this time he moves on his own, following Matt down into the bed. “Did you come back as soon as you could?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter nods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And did you miss me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So much, Matt.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then that’s all that matters, I think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll have to go back,” Peter says quietly. “I have things I need to take care of. People I need to be responsible to.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’d wait for me again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, sweetheart. I would. As long as it takes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter bites his lip, and Matt can hear the nervousness when he speaks. “Maybe… Maybe you could come with next time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you want me to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.” Peter leans forward and brushes his lips softly against Matt’s. “You know one of the jobs of a king is making and interpreting laws.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt can’t hold back the smile. “What a disaster that must be for Spartex.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought, if you were willing, maybe you could help me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything you want, sweetheart.” Matt reaches up, trapping Peter’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, and pulls him into a kiss. His hand is moving as soon as their lips touch, wrapping it carefully around the back of Peter’s neck, holding him tight. His other hand slips under Peter’s shirt, trailing up and down his back, feeling Peter’s warmth, his muscles rippling under his skin, and the pounding of his heart. It feels like home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Matt?” Peter says softly, as they pull apart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There hasn’t… I mean, I haven't… Not since we last…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt groans, and his fingers twitch where they’ve stilled just above the top of Peter’s pants. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you haven’t either… if you wanted, we could… like last time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt can’t help himself. He slides his fingers down, slightly, then pulls Peter’s body flush with his own. “You just changed the sheets,” he says with a growl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll change them again,” Peter replies, rolling his hips against Matt’s. “Fuck, Matt. I’m a king. I’ll buy you new sheets.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt nips at his ear, tightens his grip, and flips them. “Yeah, sweetheart?” He asks, as he pulls Peter’s shirt up and over his head. “You going to take care of me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Peter’s voice turns breathless as Matt scrapes his teeth over a nipple. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what if I want to take care of you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter whimpers as Matt kisses lower, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Peter’s pants and pushing them down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then we’ll take care of each other,” Peter sighs, as Matt settles between his legs and licks along Peter’s inner thigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matt pauses. He thinks about it - not just about what Peter is asking for in the moment, but all of it. He thinks about what that would mean and how it would work. It would be hard. It would be really hard. It would mean leaving New York and all of his responsibilities for months at a time. But he has a team. He has Foggy and Karen and Jess and Danny and Luke and Colleen and Spider-Man and Deadpool. He could find a way. He could make it work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Matt agrees, kissing up and over Peter’s hipbone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s going to be perfect,” Peter groans, as Matt’s breath ghosts over his skin. “Do you believe me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, Peter. I believe you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I have faith.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  
</p>
<p>[ID: Daredevil and Star Lord kissing. Daredevil is wearing his red suit, and his mask is off. His face is bloody. Star Lord's mask is retracting as he moves into the kiss. Matt has his legs wrapped around Peter's waist, and Peter seems to be lowering him down onto a surface that isn't pictured.]</p>
<p>And that, my friends, is that. Thanks so very much to <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/murdockquills">@murdockquills</a> for supplying all of the art and all of the inspiration. This is not a ship I would have ever considered, and I am totally invested now. Hopefully these two will have a chance to meet again in the comics, or maybe even on the big screen. I, for one, am not giving up hope!!! <a href="https://twitter.com/RenewDaredevil">#SaveDaredevil #FandomWithoutFear</a></p>
<p>If you liked this, maybe consider sticking around? Subscribe to me here or say hi on Tumblr or Discord. Despite all the warnings my mother gave me when I was a child, I really enjoy talking to strangers on the internet!!! I've got three pieces currently in the works, all slotted to be posted in bangs before the end of this year: two Stucky and one WinterDevil. Hopefully I'll see you around!!</p>
<p>Thanks!<br/>Gwen</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading and for giving this rare pair a chance! As is the case with all content creators, I need attention to survive!!! Please drop a kudos or a comment and let me know you were here! You can find me <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gwenpoolsaesthetic">on Tumblr</a> or on Discord @Gwendolyn Poole#7925! EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!!!</p>
<p>The full soundtrack for this fic can be found <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5H9GhDa2uBQCZAeYJcjbOA">on Spotify</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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